Blood and Water
by Puzzlemaster
Summary: When a top secret British operative goes missing, a new arrival at Stalag 13 has the Heroes wondering just how important he is to the Allies
1. A Whole Lotta Trouble

**Summary:** When a top secret British operative goes missing, a new arrival at Stalag 13 has the Heroes wondering just how important he is to the Allies

**Author's Notes:** * * * * * denotes time passing, ~" "~ denotes German being spoken, _italics_ are written words 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters, obviously; I'm just borrowing them for a bit to try my hand at fanfiction. Any other characters that appear in this story, with the exception of the brothers Kincaid, are not mine either, they are names taken from various episodes or recurring fanfiction characters. I apologize in advance for not asking permission, but I'm not sure which is which.

*****************************************************************************************************

** BLOOD AND WATER **

** by Sarah Brinton **

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 1: A Whole Lotta Trouble 

He limped painfully through the fallen leaves, aware that each step could result in a dangerous, untimely fall. No one was following him… yet. However, he had no doubt that the rather spectacular crash of his plane had not gone unnoticed. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with its pilot.

Stumbling on an exposed tree root sent him crashing to the ground. Breaking his fall with a timely, instinctive roll, he sat up a moment later cursing rather colorfully and clutching at his right ankle. It had been injured in the parachute drop, and this run-and-stumble through the dense German forest wasn't helping any. Another fall like that and he doubted he'd be able to put any weight on it at all.

Lieutenant Liam Kincaid, Royal Air Force, had been in worse case scenarios than this before… he was sure of it. Just because he couldn't think of any right at the moment didn't prove anything. Of course, he had to admit things looked pretty bad. He had a piece of shrapnel from the explosion of his plane lodged in his left shoulder that was causing his arm to go numb, and every jerk, stumble, and fall he took reopened the nasty cut on his forehead, soaking the airman's scarf he was using as a bandage with fresh blood. His labored breathing had revealed several bruised or cracked ribs, and his right ankle was badly sprained, possibly even fractured.

As night fell, so did he. More than once, the rough terrain got the best of his unstable footing, causing his injuries to get even worse and costing him precious energy. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't go any further tonight. Another fall in the darkness could leave him completely incapacitated. He would just have to find some place to rest and hope that he had put enough distance between himself and the wreckage of his plane to avoid detection until morning. Shivering, he stumbled into a pile of leaves near the trunk of a fallen tree and buried himself within them, offering up a prayer of thanks for his survival this far before succumbing to total exhaustion.

* * * * *

He awoke the next morning to the twittering of birds in the trees… and aching pain throughout his entire body, combined with a deep chill that he just couldn't shake. The events of the past twenty-four hours came rushing back with crystal clarity and he groaned. He wasn't exactly sure how to get himself out of this mess. Here he was, a downed, injured pilot smack dab in the middle of enemy territory. Only blind luck would get him out of this one, blind luck and a chance run in with the German Underground. None of his training had prepared him for this possibility. He knew he was supposed to avoid capture, but you could only do that for so long in a forest that was probably crawling with German patrols. The chances of him running into anyone who would help him were less than none out here.

Then there was the matter of his injuries, and how long they could go untreated. The cut on his head needed stitches, the piece of metal from his plane that had taken up residence in his shoulder had to be removed before infection set in, and he wasn't sure how much further he could make it on his sprained ankle before it completely gave out. Maybe he should just turn himself in. It was a hopeless cause anyway, and at least they might take care of his injuries before interrogating and imprisoning him… Wait a second! Who was he kidding? No Kincaid was going to give in to the Nazis without a fight! Of course, that meant he'd have to get moving now, before they had a chance to find him. He was a sitting duck out here in the woods, especially this close to his plane.

He struggled out of the leaves, brushing them off his uniform as he climbed slowly to his feet. He was just shaking the chill out of his bones and preparing to move out again when he heard the crack of a stick behind him. He turned around quickly and found himself facing the business end of a German rifle.

It shocked him so badly that he placed too much weight on his right leg and it buckled underneath him with a sickening *crack*. Gasping in pain, he collapsed back onto the ground, the German's rifle following him down. He looked up into the soldier's expressionless face and, gritting his teeth through the pain, said, "Fancy you showin' up when ya did. I was just about ta come lookin' for ye."

The soldier stared at him with a puzzled expression on his face, uncertain of how to respond to this greeting. Then, as several more men came out of the forest to join him, he growled in heavily accented English, "Get up!"

Liam tried, but he was unable to put any weight on his right leg. "Sorry, mate. No can do. My leg seems to be well and truly broken, thanks to your surprisin' me."

The soldier in front of him, seemingly the officer of this patrol, signaled to two of his men, who came up behind Liam and grabbed him by his forearms, dragging him upward. He yelled in pain and nearly passed out, surprising the two soldiers so much that they dropped him again. ~"Sir! I believe the prisoner is badly injured!"~ one of the men reported in German.

The officer stalked over and knelt down beside Liam, who was trembling in silent agony and the renewed pain in his ribs and left shoulder. ~"We should just shoot him now and save ourselves the trouble,"~ one of the soldiers remarked.

Liam paled at his words and tried not to show it, because he didn't want to give away the fact that he understood German. He was preparing himself for a gunshot to the head when the officer turned on the opinionated solider and snarled, ~"Dumkopf! Didn't you hear the general's orders? We are supposed to bring this flyer back alive! He may have important information regarding the mission he was on when he was shot down! We cannot risk the success of the war effort because you are inconvenienced!"~ Then, he turned back to his prisoner, who was trembling in relief on the ground. "Do not panic, Lieutenant," he said as he glanced at the insignia on Liam 's jacket. "We have orders to bring you back alive. Your injuries will be treated, but we will expect information from you regarding the mission that caused your untimely landing in our fair country."

Liam shrugged outwardly and managed to say, "Well, I can't guarantee how much useful information I can give you, but your generosity is greatly appreciated." He pushed himself up to a sitting position and fought to bring the pain in his chest under control. "However, there is the little matter of my leg. Not that I want to inconvenience you, but…" 

The officer cut him off. "Oh, you won't be any inconvenience at all, I assure you. You see," and here his polite smile turned into a rather dangerous-looking grin, "our orders were to bring you back alive, but not necessarily conscious." Liam barely had time to think before he saw a rifle butt speeding towards his face and his world exploded in pain and darkness.

* * * * *

When he struggled back to consciousness again, all he felt was pain. This whole waking up in agony in strange places was starting to get a little annoying. Everything hurt this time, and not just a dull ache of bruises and scrapes. There were things broken, and deep cuts, and a killer of a headache! There was also the whole not knowing where he was thing to worry about. Liam tried to open his eyes, only to find one of them swollen shut, thanks to that Nazi bastard and his rifle. The least he could have done was given Liam some warning before smashing in his face. He opened his other eye and saw only a gray concrete ceiling. He guessed he was in a prison cell somewhere; the exact location didn't really seem to matter. He was a prisoner of the Germans; all the details seemed fairly inconsequential in comparison.

As he lay there, trying to clear his head of the pain, he realized that some of his injuries had actually been taken care of. He could feel stitches in his head and shoulder, and his ribs seemed to be taped up rather nicely. The majority of the pain was coming from the nasty bump on his head and his broken ankle, which hadn't been treated. He figured they did that so that he couldn't try to escape. He was also suffering from several nasty scrapes to his face and arms, along with more than a few bruises that he knew hadn't been there when he'd been knocked out. He guessed that the Nazi patrol hadn't let an unconscious, injured prisoner slow them up much in their march back to base.

As he closed his eye and let himself relax, he began to wonder just how long he'd been here. His stomach was starting to growl, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since supper the night before the mission. He knew that hunger was a great motivator in getting prisoners to talk, so he decided against sitting up and asking for food. The less they knew about his weaknesses, the better. Besides, he needed to conserve his energy and concentrate on letting his injuries heal, because he had no idea how long a respite they would give him before the interrogation began.

He lay there for what seemed like hours, thinking about everything that had happened and trying not to think about what they were going to do with him, which meant that visions of horrible torture were foremost in his mind. Then, he heard the cell door open and several pairs of booted feet marched in. One of them was saying something about useful information, but the voices fell silent as they entered the room.

~"Do you think he's woken up yet?"~ one of the voices asked. ~"You know, Captain, your men could have been a little more gentle with an injured man, even though he is one of the enemy."~

~"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, my men got a little carried away. It will not happen again."~ Liam recognized that voice as the German officer who'd found him in the woods.

~"See that it doesn't. Now, let's see if we can't wake him."~ Footsteps came closer to his bed, clicking menacingly across the floor. 

Liam slowly opened his one good eye into the face of a tall, thin, sallow-looking German general. The man twitched a bit in surprise at Liam's gaze, clearly not expecting his prisoner to be awake. After a second of silence, he cleared his throat and said, "Well, it's good to see you awake, Lieutenant. As I'm sure you've noticed, our doctor has taken care of many of your injuries and you seem to be recovering nicely. I hope that, when you are feeling up to it, you will return our kindness by consenting to answer some simple questions for us?" 

These Germans sure though they were sneaky, but a guilt trip wasn't going to work on this Kincaid, no sir! Liam was feeling brave enough to croak out, "Well sir, you know I canna give information to the enemy. It's against reg'lations. Besides, your doctor dinna do a very good job, the way I see it, as I still seem ta have a nasty broken ankle. The pain makes it difficult ta think straight, if ya know wot I mean." 

The general looked rather taken aback at the prisoner's brazen attitude, but it would do him no good to take his anger out on an already injured man. That would have to wait until the interrogation began. However, there were other ways of making him talk… "Well, young man, if you believe that to be the case, we have no other choice than to comply with your regulations. Wouldn't want you to be court-martialed, now would we? However, I believe I will give you some time to think it over. Maybe you will find a way to think through the pain, eh?" With that, he got up and turned to go, giving orders to the guard on the door that the prisoner should not be fed until he was ready to talk. As he was leaving, he turned back one last time. "I suggest, Lieutenant, that you decide which is more important: your so-called regulations, or food and medical attention. Good day." 

The door clanged shut and the clicking of the lock reverberated ominously through the concrete cell. "Oh bloody 'ell, I've really done it this time," Liam mumbled as he closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep, trying hard not to think of food.

* * * * *

The next day and a half passed uneventfully except for the growing ache in Liam's stomach. When he finally gathered the strength to sit up and look around, he found himself in a bare concrete cell with nothing but the metal cot he'd been lying on and a washstand and latrine in the corner. His broken ankle, however, made it almost impossible to get up and move about, so he spent all his time just lying on the bed, resting and thinking about home. 

Thoughts of home brought many painful memories to the forefront of his mind. He'd been away for almost six months prior to the mission that had brought him back to his home soil for the briefest of moments. Though he and his brother had been working closely together, as they had been since this war started, he hadn't seen his parents or his three little sisters in months. Not to mention his soon-to-be fiancée, Kathleen. Beautiful Kathy, his childhood sweetheart and the love of his life. 

Thoughts of Kathy brought to mind something else, something he had recently risked his life for. On a curiosity, he reached under his shirt and pulled out two items that were hanging around his neck, amazed that the Germans hadn't taken them from him. One was a straggly piece of leather on which was hung a beautiful sapphire ring. An engagement ring. He had snuck out onto the town one day while on a mission in Paris, France, two weeks ago to buy it for Kathy, and had been planning to present it to her during his leave in another two weeks' time. The two of them had written each other daily for the past six months, mushy love letters full of endearments that Liam had loved to read out loud to his brother just to disgust him. The thought that he might never see Kathy again hurt more than Liam could bear at the moment, so he tucked the ring away safely under his shirt again, vowing to keep it, and thoughts of her, close to his heart until he returned home safe and sound. 

The other necklace he wore was actually a rosary; it served as a good-luck charm of sorts and was one of Liam's most treasured possessions. The beads were black onyx, linked together by tiny gold rings, and the cross that hung at the bottom of it was inscribed on the back with the words, _"Lord, guard and guide the men who fly through the great spaces of the sky,"_ along with his given name and the date when he was issued his commission in the RAF. It had been a gift from his father, and Liam had never seen a man so proud of his sons as Colonel Darien Kincaid had been on that day.

Liam wondered what his father must be thinking now. It was impossible for him not to have heard that his son had been shot down; after all, he had been in charge of the mission, and he was the one who had requested Liam's temporary assignment to the squadron, pulling him away from his previous mission for a "chance to stretch his wings again." The colonel probably didn't know, however, that his son was now a prisoner of war; and he wasn't sure which would weigh more heavily on his father's mind: that, or thinking he was dead.

The thought of his mother and sisters thinking him dead, though, bothered Liam more than imagining his father's guilt. His mother had never wanted her two boys to go into the military, regardless of the fact that it was in their brains and in their blood. She would certainly blame Father for his 'death,' and how would she explain it to the little ones? His three sisters were only five, three, and two; the concept that big brother Li wouldn't ever be coming home again would be a hard one for them to grasp. He knew his loss would be deeply felt by all of them.

His brother, though… what would he do? Liam and Kier had been close all their lives, and working together had deepened that bond until it was hard to tell where one Kincaid ended and the other began. Liam had felt bad about leaving his brother to go on another mission, but Kier had shrugged it off, telling him he didn't get a chance to bomb the hell out of the godforsaken Gerries every day. They had parted on good terms, with the promise to meet up again at camp in five days' time. That would have been today.

Would he have gotten the news? Would he believe his only brother to be dead? Or would Kier know the truth? He guessed only time would tell. With a tremulous sigh, he slipped the rosary back under his shirt as well, offering up a prayer to the God of his Irish Catholic upbringing to keep his family safe and to maybe enlighten their hearts so they would not believe him dead, no matter what the Germans told them. As long as he had his love, his family, and his faith, there was still hope for tomorrow.

* * * * *

The next morning, Liam was awakened by the door of his cell slamming open. He sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light of the single bulb that swung over his head. The general came stomping in, followed closely by a soldier carrying a covered tray, from which the mouth-watering smell of food emanated. Liam's stomach growled and twisted knots around itself, and he found himself licking his lips, his eyes fixed on the object of his salvation. The general chuckled.

"Well, young soldier, I hope that we have given you sufficient time to reconsider our not unreasonable request. I hear that regular meals do wonders to speed up the healing process, so if you just consent to answer a few questions, I will see to it that you are well-fed and that your broken leg is taken care of." He trailed off, looking patiently expectant at the bedraggled pilot lying in front of him.

Liam struggled to push himself into a sitting position, seething with hatred at the general's callous ploy to get him to talk. As he pondered his options, however, a rather ingenious plan came to him. He had a fairly good idea of what the general was going to ask him; the best way to get food and medical care out of this whole charade would be to answer his questions without really telling him anything. Since Liam knew absolutely nothing about the mission in the first place, it shouldn't be too hard to convince the general that he was wringing valuable information out of his prisoner when in reality he was getting less than nothing.

"What exactly do you want to know, sir?" he queried shakily, doing his best to sound like a desperate man, which wasn't a far stretch. 

The general smiled thinly, a frightening sight. "Let's start with your identification?"

"First Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, Serial Number 9274741."

"Very well then. Lieutenant Kincaid, what squadron do you fly with in your Royal Air Force?" The general's grin widened as he expected a chance to beat the information out of the young Englander. He knew as well as any Allied pilot that the only information they were supposed to give out were name, rank, and serial number.

Liam's heart was racing, and his mind was full of doubts concerning what he was about to do, but he swallowed and said, "I don't have one, sir. It varies from assignment to assignment." Which he guessed was true for the most part, considering that he hadn't flown with a squadron in close to a year before this latest mission.

The general blinked, his only showing of surprise, but clearly that was far from the response he was expecting. Getting bolder, he asked, "What squadron were you flying with on your latest mission?"

"I honestly don't know their official ranking, General. They don't tell me the squad ranking, just the code name for the mission, and those vary on every mission that I fly."

The general's eyes were getting wider by the word, so surprised was he at the young man's candor. Liam only prayed that he could feed the general enough of this information to get what he wanted out of him without the general realizing that he was getting absolutely nothing in return.

"What was your squadron's mission over German airspace?"

For a brief moment, Liam wondered if the general was asking these questions just to get a "Sorry, sir, can't tell you that," so he could use that wicked-looking nightstick on the injured man sitting in front of him. Well, he wasn't going to get the chance this early in the game. Liam's mind worked too fast for that.

"Just attacking your flyers, mostly. It's war, that's what we do after all. If there was an ulterior motive, I surely didn't know about it. I signed on solely to fly and fight."

The general was shaking his head, clearly not convinced. "That's all very interesting, Lieutenant, but you haven't told me anything worth knowing."

Liam shrugged. "Not much I can do about that, sir. I canna tell you what I don't know, and making things up wouldn't be terribly beneficial to my current position, now would it?"

The general stared at him for a moment, wracking his brains for a question that would really catch his prisoner in a trap, or at least give him some relevant information. Then, he appeared to pause and reverse his train of thought, as if something else had just occurred to him. 

"Lieutenant Kincaid, just how valuable are you to your Allies? I have never heard of a pilot assigned to duty among squadrons, or at least not one who would ever admit it. You also seem very young, but your answers speak of much experience in aerial combat and the ways of war. Are you truly everything you seem to be?"

Uh-oh. Here was where things would get tricky. Liam knew he couldn't reveal the truth about his importance to the Allies without putting others lives in danger. However, if he understated his importance too much, they might just wring him for all the information he seemed to know and dispose of him as a spy. How could he have been so stupid, thinking he could shoot his mouth off without having to pay for it later! Right now, he was sitting between the Gestapo and a POW camp in the best-case scenario, and he knew which one he'd prefer. The general was looking impatient, so Liam decided to play his bluff to the fullest and run with everything he had.

"Well, sir, you are correct in noticing my experience, despite my youth. While I haven't been flying in the military for long, I had training as a boy, courtesy of my father, who was also a career officer. The reason I have not yet been placed in a squadron is that the brass were still evaluating my abilities at the time of my latest mission. I'm really nothing special, sir. Just honest."

The general nodded, taking Liam's bluff for all that it was worth. "Explain your candor, Lieutenant. Why answer our questions?"

"I just want to get out of this in one piece, General. I don't see why any other flyer wouldn't feel the same way. You extended me a semi-reasonable offer, and considering the circumstances, I really didn't have any other choice, did I?" He absolutely hated the words coming out of his mouth at that moment, but he also knew that they were the exact words the general wanted to hear. He only hoped that his little show had worked out as he hoped it would.

The general pondered this statement for a moment, then he nodded, slowly. "It's good to hear you say so, Lieutenant." He motioned to the soldier holding the tray of food, and the man came forward and set it on the bed. Then, he continued, "I will consider the information you have given us very carefully, and I hope we can expect your cooperation if we have any further questions. The doctor will be by shortly, so I suggest you simply relax and enjoy your meal." With that, he made a sharp about-face and left the room. The guard followed, closing the door behind him.

Liam was so relieved he almost fainted. It worked! It really worked! With any luck, they would send the information off to headquarters and ship him off to a POW camp so he could go about the business of escaping and heading back home. These Germans were way too easy to fool.

He finally caught his breath and realized he was shaking with relief. And hunger too, he supposed. He hadn't eaten in at least four days. He turned to the dish sitting next to him on the bed and whipped off the cover; eager to devour whatever it was they had given him.

The meal before him was the most meager of prison fare: a rubbery piece of old, overcooked meat, a crusty roll of coarse brown bread, and a few limp leaves of boiled cabbage, but to Liam it was a feast. He wanted to bolt it all down immediately, but realizing that he had no idea when he would eat again, he decided to savor every last bite. Which he did, and he even tucked half of the roll into the breast pocket of his shirt for later, as emergency rations. Then, feeling some of his strength returning as his stomach was sated, he slowly pulled himself off the bed and hopped over to the washstand on one leg, being careful not to move his broken ankle too much. He drank several handfuls of water, washed his face and hands, and even ran his wet fingers through his hair, doing his best to make himself feel somewhat normal and presentable once again. Feeling much cleaner, he settled himself back down on the bed and waited for the doctor to show up, clearly pleased with his sly maneuvering of the Germans that had bought his chance at freedom.

* * * * *

The next few days passed uneventfully with the exception of the doctor's visit and the return of regular meals, poor as they were. Liam still made a point to save whatever morsels he could; considering how well he was used to eating, he did his best to stretch everything they gave him out as long as possible. The Germans seemed to be leaving him well enough alone, and Liam was thankful that there had been no more questions; he wasn't sure he could fake them if they had gotten any more in-depth. Though he hated being cooped up like this after a lifetime out under the open sky, he was grateful for the chance to rest. He supposed, also, that he'd better get used to it, seeing as he wasn't going to be flying again for some time. 

Then, two days after his interrogation, he was woken once again to the door of his cell crashing inward. As he struggled to sit up and see who it was this time, he wondered why these Krauts couldn't open doors quietly, or maybe knock like any civilized person to let him know they were coming in. He wasn't the least bit surprised when the general came stomping in again, a satisfied, evil grin on his face.

"Good, you are awake, Lieutenant. It will make things progress much quicker."

Liam felt his heartbeat quicken. "What things?"

"You are being transferred today, my young flyer. I sent the information you were so kind to provide us to High Command; they were extremely intrigued and sent it in turn to Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin. You are being sent to a Prisoner of War camp while the Gestapo assess the usefulness of the information. However, expect that they will be 'getting in touch' with you if they feel you could provide them with any more information."

Liam swung his legs off the bed, trying to look sufficiently cowed while not being in the least bit surprised or frightened. He'd be long gone before the Gestapo got ahold of him. However, there was one question that was niggling him. "I've heard much about your Prisoner of War camps, general. If I may be so bold, to which one are you sending me?"

The general's creepy smile widened, giving the impression that he was about to go for someone's neck. "Stalag 7. I believe that it is fairly well-known among the Allies, yes?"

Yes. Oh yes. And… oh _schist_. Liam's face went pale. He didn't think he was going to be able to stand up, but he didn't really have a choice as the general signaled two guards to come in and drag him to his feet. They pulled his arms in front of him for a set of handcuffs, which he hardly seemed to notice. His gaze was glued to the general's cruel, glittering blue eyes, and the expression on the other man's face told Liam that he could tell he'd just spoken a name that had struck real fear into the heart of his prisoner.

Liam had heard of Stalag 7. Every flyboy this side of the Atlantic had heard the horror stories from the POW camp nicknamed "The Death-Trap" because more prisoners escaped there in pine boxes than ever made it under the wire. It was the second worst POW camp in Germany to be sent to for that very reason, and by the look in the general's eyes, he knew it. 

"I've made certain that the camp Kommandant knows about your special circumstances, and he will be sure to keep a close eye on you while you are there. We wouldn't want an important source of information disappearing right under our noses, would we?" He signaled the guards to lead Liam out; they grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him bodily towards the door. The general turned to watch him go. "I hope you enjoy your stay in our beautiful country, Lieutenant Kincaid," he snickered as Liam was pulled from the room. "I'm sure you will find the locals most… hospitable."

*****************************************************************************************************


	2. A Somewhat Narrow Escape

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 2: A Somewhat Narrow Escape 

The roads in Germany were horrible. Liam had thought that the Sunday drives he'd taken with his family into the Irish countryside to visit his grandparents were bad, but old farms trails were nothing compared to this washed-out, rock-strewn, pothole-studded tear in the beauty of the countryside that the transport truck had been bumping down for the last four hours.

They had been traveling for most of the day, ever since they had dragged him out of his cell at about ten that morning. Liam's body ached all over, not just from the pains of poorly healed injuries and the bumps in the road, but also from the guards' rifle butts in his ribs every time he looked up, or turned his head, or tried to sleep, or moved in any way. The ultimatum they had given him as they loaded him into the truck had been severe: You're a prisoner, so act like one. You will not look us in the eye, for we are of the Master Race and shouldn't even be bothering with the likes of you. Think of escaping and you'll regret it. And if we have to stay awake to guard you, don't even close your eyes. God, how he hated the Nazis! And on top of that, he was getting a crick in his neck from staring at his boots for the past eight hours.

He'd spent those eight hours thinking of nothing but the horrors that awaited him at Stalag 7, no matter how hard he tried to put his mind to something else. There was no doubt in his mind that the general had chosen it for a reason. The camp's reputation for brutality was legendary, so the camp Kommandant would have no problem 'keeping an eye' on a possible squealer. That was what Liam was afraid of, because after an extended time of 'special treatment' at any prison camp, the Gestapo wouldn't have quite as much trouble getting information out of him. And he could not allow that to happen under any circumstances.

However, on the brighter side, there was still the possibility of escape. And Liam was very good at escapes. He knew escape was possible from Stalag 7; he'd even talked to several men who'd gotten out of there alive. That was where the Germans had made their mistake: They'd sent him to a camp that it was possible to escape from. If they had ever wanted to see him again, they should have sent him to Stalag 13 instead. A camp didn't get the reputation of "The Toughest POW Camp in Germany" on rumors and hearsay; Liam had it on good authority that no one had ever escaped from there. Ever. Though he wouldn't have minded a challenge, he had to count his lucky stars that he hadn't been sent there. If Stalag 7 was Hell, he didn't even want to imagine what life must be like for the prisoners of Stalag 13.

Liam was so absorbed in his thoughts that he scarcely noticed darkness falling over the German countryside. He did notice, however, that the guards were starting to droop. He certainly couldn't blame them; he had been getting plenty of sleep these past few days and this bumpy drive had him completely exhausted. Considering the kinds of shifts they must be pulling, they had to be totally fagged. And tired soldiers made unwary soldiers. Unwary soldiers could give Liam a chance to escape.

Or if not escape, he reconsidered as he recalled the speed at which they were barreling down this road, at least he might be able to catch some shuteye in the dark.

He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, concentrating until he could once again see the toes of his boots past the chain dangling between his wrists. Moving his head almost imperceptibly, he could just see the shadowy form of the guard sitting across from him. The bulky sergeant shifted slightly and tightened his grip on the rifle in his hands, almost as if he could feel Liam's eyes on him. With a sigh, Liam directed his gaze back to his handcuffs. Sleep it was, then. 

He was just letting his eyelids droop when a bright flash lit up the night sky, followed by a rolling *boom* that was definitely not thunder. Liam jumped in surprise and glanced up for just a second, but fortunately the guards didn't seem to notice. They were too busy panicking. One of them still hit him in the ribs, though, when they conferred among themselves and determined that the Allies were bombing some munitions factory just up the road a few miles. As if he had something to do with it!

The driver sped up, a fair trick in this rickety old truck, but as they were heading towards the munitions factory, the explosions just kept getting closer. Then, the whirring of fighter planes and bombers came within range. Liam's head jerked up instinctively and he turned his gaze to the open back of the truck, eyes searching the dark sky for any sign of the squadron. Two no-nos. 

The next second, he found himself knocked to the floor of the truck, his shout of surprise drowned out by another explosion in the forest nearby. The guard that had thrown him down was standing up, yelling something in German. Then, he grabbed Liam by the collar of his jacket, and shook him until his brains rattled, still screaming. Liam was too confused by everything that was going on to pay attention to what he was yelling about, so he just stared blankly at the guard, which seemed to make him even madder.

He let go of Liam's jacket, and as Liam tried to regain his balance, the soldier punched him full-force in the solar plexus. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he was thrown towards the back of the truck, and he hadn't even fallen when he registered in some corner of his mind that a rifle butt was whistling towards his chest. 

The next thing Liam knew, he was flying through the air, his ears ringing. An explosion had happened just in front of the truck at the same moment that the rifle had connected with his chest, throwing him bodily out the open back of the transport truck. He hit the gravel road on his right shoulder, which broke on impact, and slid at least ten metres. As he slowed to a stop, another flash lit the sky and he could see the guards in the truck struggling to their feet. They were trying to get the speeding driver to stop; as it was, the truck was already about 50 metres from him. Liam let the rest of his natural momentum roll him over onto his left side, which was relatively uninjured, his head curled in on his chest and his back to the receding truck. 

As he lay there in the road, feeling mauled and struggling to breathe, he heard an immense explosion from behind him, followed by several choked-off screams. Sharp pains, like hundreds of tiny beebees, spread across his back and legs, followed by a concussive, fiery shockwave and another explosion, louder than the first. Then, everything went silent. Liam lay there in shock, at a loss as to what had just happened.

He may have blacked out, he wasn't sure. When he opened his eyes again, his curiosity finally got the better of him and he decided to see what had happened to make everything go strangely quiet. Though it was easier said than done, he pushed himself to a sitting position with his left arm, every injury screaming in pain, and turned ever so slowly to look back down the road to where the truck was.

Or had been. The remains of the transport vehicle were blazing merrily in the middle of the road. Liam put two and two together through the ache in his head and realized that a bomb must have hit the truck dead on just as he'd turned away, explaining the first explosion. And the screams, he realized with a shudder. The second explosion, judging by the state of the remains, had probably happened when the fire from the first explosion found the truck's gas tank. 

Liam simply stared at what remained of the truck, unsure of what to think or do. As he was coming to terms with his miraculous escape, a sudden realization hit him. Everything was silent. He had dimly noticed this before, but now it was obvious. Everything was TOO silent. There was no crackling from the fire in the road, no explosions to accompany the flashing lights of bombs being dropped in the forest, and no normal night-time sounds either. 

His first thought was that he should panic, but he was too exhausted and in too much pain to exert any energy to panic, so the rational part of his brain took over instead. He was deaf, that much was obvious, and it was probably caused by his close proximity to the multiple explosions. That meant there was a possibility that it was only temporary. Since it wasn't too terribly debilitating at the present time, and since there wasn't much he could do about it, he decided not to let it worry him overmuch for now. There were more pressing matters to attend to, ones that he could do something about.

As his mind finally cleared itself of the residual cobwebs caused by getting thrown full-force from a moving vehicle, he started to shiver uncontrollably, sending waves of pain through his chest and shoulder. Must be that wonderful shock reflex kicking in, he pondered as his teeth started chattering. Not to mention it was damn cold out here. He had to start moving, and soon, but he wasn't sure how possible that would be in his current condition. So much for his old injuries healing - and he had gained several new and interesting ones as well. He knew that he had to find someplace to stay, preferably with a roaring fire and medical attention. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was in the middle of Nazi Germany; then he decided that it didn't really matter. He had been a prisoner, so it wasn't as if anything would change if he were captured again. It was certainly better than freezing to death out here in the middle of the road.

Inch by excruciating inch, Liam dragged his bruised, broken, shrapnel-ridden body off the roadway and made it to his knees. His right shoulder was grinding bone against bone, so he ripped one of the lapels off his jacket just enough to wrap his arm against his body, then he wound the handcuff chain around it to keep it in place. He hoped that this improvised sling would keep his arm from moving as he walked. Or limped was more like it as he looked down at his right leg. How he was supposed to get anywhere with a broken ankle in his condition was beyond him, but he really had no choice but to try.

He crawled off the roadway into a shallow ditch bordering the forest and slumped down into the bushes to consider his alternatives. Where was he supposed to go? He was in the middle of nowhere in some German forest, a familiar scene, and he had no idea where to find civilization from here. Then, all of a sudden it came to him. He had seen lights, about ten minutes or so up the road as they were driving! He didn't know what the lights were for, and they had looked a bit like searchlights, but it was a destination, which he needed. 

He searched around in the bushes and found a tree branch to serve as a crutch, which he stuck under his left arm. It wasn't terribly effective, seeing as his right leg was the one that was broken, but it would have to do. As he pulled himself to his feet, the culmination of shock and adrenaline began to dull the pain in his numerous injuries, making the going slightly easier. Survival instinct, his brain told him, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He stumbled back to the edge of the road and started limping back down the way he had come, leaving the burning wreck of the transport truck behind him.

*****************************************************************************************************


	3. Who's the Mystery Man?

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 3: Who's the Mystery Man? 

Roll call came early each morning at Stalag 13, and mornings after a successful mission were even harder to wake up for. After a mere hour and a half of restful sleep, Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer, was startled awake by a loud banging on the door of his private quarters. "Everybody up! Time for roll call!" a loud German voice ordered. "Roll call, Colonel Hogan, roll call!"

Hogan rolled himself out of bed, pulled on his shoes and his brown bomber jacket, and grabbed his cap as he came out the door. "OK, Schultz," he informed the portly German sergeant who was fidgeting in the middle of the main barracks. "I'm up." The rest of his men were sleepily dragging themselves out of bed. "Come on, men," Hogan called out. "Rise and shine!"

The POWs lined up outside the barracks, shivering in the predawn autumn morning. It had gotten cold during the night and a thin layer of frost covered the parade ground. Hogan stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to look nonchalant and keep from shivering.

As Schultz moved through the ranks, counting the prisoners, Hogan thought back to their mission last night. It had been ingenious, really, using the bombing of a munitions factory as a diversion so that he and his men could sneak into a hidden rocket base nearby, steal some vital plans, and blow the place sky-high, leaving the Germans to think it was just someone else's lucky shot. Of course, then there was the difficulty of getting the plans to the Underground in the confusion, especially since the bombers had been instructed to drop bombs indiscriminately across the countryside to make the other explosion seem like an accident. All of it had resulted in a long and exhausting evening. Hogan only hoped that London would give them a day or so to lay low before their next assignment. A week would be ideal, so as not to arouse suspicion, but that was highly unlikely. Even as he stood there, Hogan's elation at the success of the mission was replaced with a vague sense of unease. 

Just as Schultz finished his counting, the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Klink, came stalking out of his office, shivering as well in the frigid morning air. "Schultz! Report!" he yelled, exactly like he did every morning.

"All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz replied, exactly like he did every morning. Nothing around here ever really changed, which was exactly the way Hogan liked it. The more predictable the Germans got, the easier his missions became to pull off.

Then, Klink started in on his morning tirade. "It seems that an Allied Air Force squadron bombed the Hammelburg Munitions Factory last night, leaving it in ruins." The POWs broke into loud cheers and catcalls at this statement. Klink's face went red. "Silence!" he shouted, and the cheering slowly died down. "As I was saying… due to their extremely poor marksmanship, however, the raid spread across the roadway several kilometers south of here, leaving a large amount of debris. Work details will be going out today to…"

All of a sudden, one of the guards in the gate towers sounded an alarm. Klink jumped in surprise, recovered quickly, and shouted "Report!" as another guard came running over.

~"Herr Kommandant, there is a man lying in the roadway! He looks badly injured, maybe even dead!"~

~"A man? Is he a soldier? One of ours? I will see to this at once! And get a stretcher!"~ Turning back to the assembled prisoners, he dismissed them all hurriedly, then marched quickly out of the front gate, accompanied by the guard. 

The prisoners quickly dispersed, and Hogan slowly sidled over near the front gate, accompanied by his 'senior staff': his right-hand man, Sergeant James "Kinch" Kinchloe; their resident jack-of-all-trades, RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk; the camp's gourmet chef, French Resistance Corporal Louis LeBeau; and their explosives expert, Sergeant Andrew Carter. "I wonder what that's all about?" Hogan mused aloud to his men as they watched the Krauts gathered in the roadway.

"Who knows?" Newkirk spoke up. "It couldn't be one of ours, could it, Colonel? A pilot from last night's mission, or an Underground agent or somethin'?"

"I don't think so. I don't recall any of our planes going down last night, and the bombing didn't come anywhere near here." Then, he saw Klink gesturing frantically, and Schultz took the message and headed towards the little group. "I guess we're about to find out, though." He broke away and headed towards the Sergeant of the Guard as the rest of them dispersed back to the barracks. 

"Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant would like you to come and see this, please." Schultz sounded very distraught about something.

"Sure thing, Schultz. Lead the way." Hogan headed towards the front gate, where he was flanked by two other guards as he headed towards the road. He broke through the circle of soldiers to find one of them kneeling next to a crumpled figure lying at the edge of the roadway. 

When Hogan recognized the uniform, he swallowed a gasp of surprise and dropped to his knees next to the injured man. The soldier lying in the roadway was wearing a Royal Air Force uniform, though it was so shredded and covered with dirt and blood that it was hardly recognizable. Hogan couldn't even find any visible rank insignia, but one look at the soldier's face told him that he was too young to be more than a captain, and he was probably just a lieutenant. He didn't look older than 20 or 21, hardly more than a boy.

Hogan looked at the German soldier kneeling across from him. "Is he…?" He couldn't even bring himself to ask.

"He is still alive," the soldier replied curtly, "but only just. He has lost a lot of blood, and he is very cold."

Hogan's hand went to the boy's wrist, the left one, as he noticed the right one bound in a crude sling across his chest. His hand paused, shocked, as he noticed the handcuffs on the boy's wrists. An escaping prisoner? But why would he be headed in this direction? And how did he get so badly injured? He searched for the soldier's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief as he found it, faint and erratic as it was. Then, he turned to Colonel Klink. "Well sir? What are you waiting for? This man obviously needs medical attention!"

"But he's an Allied soldier!" Klink protested.

"He's also a prisoner of war," Hogan motioned to the handcuffs, "and last time I checked, this was a prisoner of war camp. Under the Geneva Convention, it is your duty to ensure the health and well being of the prisoners under your command. You wouldn't just leave him here to die, would you, Kommandant?"

Klink sputtered, looking confused as always. "But, but… he's not under my command!" 

Just then, the men with the stretcher showed up. Klink absently motioned for them to start putting the injured man on it as Hogan continued to butter him up. "He is now, Kommandant. The way I see it, he was probably escaping, and you captured him fair and square. If he's returned in good health, you will probably be commended for capturing him, sir."

A thoughtful expression crossed Klink's face, and Hogan knew he'd hit his mark. Klink liked the thought of doing something he couldn't possibly be lambasted for by General Burkhaulter, and since the new prisoner was already loaded onto the stretcher, much to Klink's surprise, he waved his men through the gate. "Hogan, if there is a medic among your men, I suggest you bring him to the guest quarters. I will contact one of the doctors in Hammelburg and see if he can't be spared to come out and treat our new prisoner."

"That is most magnanimous of you, sir," Hogan gushed, rolling his eyes at Klink's gullibility as he was escorted back inside the gate. Then, he hurried of in search of Sergeant Wilson, the camp's only resident field medic.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, Hogan stood fidgeting in the corner of the camp's guest quarters. Because it was reserved for visiting German officials, usually high-ranking officers, SS, or Gestapo, it was the nicest set of rooms in the stalag, nicer even than Klink's quarters. How ironic, then, that it was currently serving as the sickroom for an Allied soldier.

Sergeant Wilson was finishing his cursory examination, cleaning and bandaging the numerous cuts along the young soldier's right arm and leg, removing shrapnel from his back, and examining him for possible internal injuries that would have to be taken care of when the doctor arrived. He finished everything that he could do and came over to Hogan, wiping his hands on a bloody rag. "I've done as much as I can, Colonel. The rest will have to wait until the German doc gets here."

"How's he looking, Sergeant?" 

"Well, sir, it looks to me that he's been injured twice, both quite recently. Initially, his injuries were taken care of; there are stitches in his forehead and left shoulder, his ribs were taped, and his right ankle had been broken, reset, and bandaged. More recently, he seems to have been dragged along a road or something; there are rocks and dirt embedded in his right arm and leg. He was also caught in an explosion by the look of the metal shrapnel in his back and legs and the bleeding in his ears. He has a broken collarbone, cracked ribs, and a fractured ankle, but I don't think there are any severe internal injuries."

"So he's going to be fine?"

"Yessir. Once the doctor gets here, we can cast the broken bones, give him penicillin to prevent infection from the shrapnel and gravel, and he should fully recover, given time, which is obviously something he wasn't given before."

That was a great relief to Hogan, but there was still the question of the pilot's identity. "Did you find any dogtags or insignia on him? Any clue as to who he is?"

Wilson pondered that for a second, then looked shocked as he recalled, "Well sir, the stripes on his shirt indicate lieutenant, but there was no other identification on him. That's not right, is it sir?"

That surprised Hogan as well. Why wouldn't he have dogtags? Or an ID card? "It's possible he lost them, or left them behind when he escaped. I'm sure we'll find out who he is when he wakes up."

"And what happened to him, I hope," Wilson added. Glancing over at the unconscious patient, he said, "From the looks of it, that kid's been through Hell." Both men were suddenly interrupted by the door opening as Schultz came in, followed by Dr. Freiling. The doctor was a white-haired, dignified gentleman who ran a successful practice in Hammelburg and, as an added bonus, also happened to be a member of the Underground.

Both men greeted the doctor after Schultz left, then Freiling shooed Hogan out of the room as he and the sergeant worked on the young pilot. Hogan paced around the sitting room for almost an hour until the doctor came out and motioned for him to have a seat. 

"You may relax now, Colonel Hogan. The young man is going to be just fine. We have taken care of all his injuries, and he should regain consciousness within a day or so as his body recovers from mild hypothermia and blood loss. Your medic tells me you have no idea who this man is, or what happened to him?"

"You guess is as good as mine, Doc," Hogan shrugged. "The best I can figure is that he was an escaping prisoner that got caught in an explosion sometime last night. Which wouldn't surprise me, considering how many bombs were going off out there."

"Ah, yes. I noticed the handcuffs. I must go ask Colonel Klink for permission to have them removed. I also noticed that he had some minor injuries that had been bandaged prior to his escape. He has obviously been through a lot in the past few days. I'm sure he will have quite the story to tell when he wakes up." Noticing lines of exhaustion in Hogan's face, the doctor switched patients momentarily. "I suggest you go and get some rest now, Colonel Hogan. You look exhausted, and there's no more that you can do here. Your medic and I will keep a close eye on the young pilot and I promise to inform you the moment he regains consciousness. I believe you should also inform your men about his condition. I am sure they are as worried as you are."

Relief crossed Hogan's face as he rose to leave. He reached out and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you, sir, for everything." Then, he headed back to the barracks to get some shuteye before the men came back from work detail. He would have Kinch contact the Underground to listen for reports of missing prisoners in the area. Until then, he needed to get some sleep.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, Hogan was leaning on the wall of Barracks 2 in his usual spot, surveying the bustle of activity in the camp around him. Kinch was down in the radio room waiting for a message from the Underground, LeBeau was making dinner inside the barracks, and Carter and Newkirk were sitting on the steps nearby, working on a uniform for their new arrival. Such a tranquil scene, Hogan thought. No one would ever guess that they were all on pins and needles. His gaze fell on the open window over at the guest quarters. As if sensing his thoughts, Newkirk and Carter both stopped talking and glanced over, following their commanding officer's gaze. Then Newkirk got up and came to stand beside Hogan. 

"You said he'd be alright, sir. I'm sure he'll be awake soon."

Carter wasn't far behind. "Yeah, and then he'll be able to tell us who he is. That is, if he remembers who he is. I hear sometimes that people who bump their heads real bad wake up and they don't remember who they are! Boy, if that happens to him, we'd really be in a fix…"

"Carter! You're not helping!" Newkirk shouted, but there was a friendly sound to his voice, and he grinned as he pushed the boyish sergeant's hat down over his eyes for the umpteenth time. 

"I was just saying…"

Hogan couldn't help but smile either. "I'm sure he'll remember, Carter. I don't think he hit his head on anything, so his memory will be just fine." He hoped.

Just then, the door to the barracks opened and Kinch's head poked out. "Message from London, Colonel. And you'll really want to read this one."

"London? But I thought they were supposed to be giving us a rest here!" Hogan said as the three men piled into the barracks and crowded around the table. 

"This isn't a mission, exactly," Kinch explained as he handed his CO the rather lengthy message. Hogan read it, then read it again, and a worried look spread across his face as London's message sunk in.

"What is it, Colonel?" Newkirk was the first to notice the frown on Hogan's face. 

"Is it bad news, mon colonél?" LeBeau, who had left the stove and joined the others, asked. 

"You could say that. One of the Falcons is missing."

"The falcons? What falcons?" Carter was always the first to ask the questions.

"Falcons, capitalized, Carter. The Falcons are a crack spy team for the British Secret Service. Sort of like us, but a bit more official. They're twin brothers who are amazing pilots, crack sharpshooters, and masters of impersonation, among other talents. They are also the Allies' best-kept secret. So well-kept that no one who would admit it actually knows who they are, not even their names."

"And one of them is missing? Why does this concern us?" Newkirk sounded skeptical. 

"Allied Intelligence has reason to believe that the missing Falcon was shot down during a bombing raid over Germany almost two weeks ago. They don't know exactly when, or which raid, because they were only alerted to it the other day when his brother reported in to say he had been sent on a flying mission to Germany and hadn't reported in. He left their base of operations ten days ago and was supposed to return in five, but he never showed."

"And London wants us to look for the bloke? That's like lookin' for a needle in a haystack!"

"They don't want us to LOOK for him, Newkirk, just keep a look OUT for him. We're to keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground, and in the event that he's nearby, we're to get him back home ASAP."

"But I thought you just said that no one knew who this fellow was. How are we supposed to know him when we see him? Or hear about him for that matter, since we haven't the faintest idea what his name is?"

"They're supposed to send us that information in a few days, once Command finds it out for themselves. They want to keep this as quiet as possible. It should strictly be Secret Service business, but because we're already in Germany and are working for High Command, they're going to get clearance so we can help." Hogan folded the sheets of paper and slipped them into his breast pocket. "I only hope he isn't dead, or being interrogated by the Gestapo. If the Germans find out anything about this man, the entire Allied offensive on France could be in jeopardy."

"France?" LeBeau's ears perked up at the mention of his homeland. "Why France, Colonél?"

"The Falcons have been working undercover in France for the past six months, gathering tactical information, troop deployments, and defensive plans in preparation for a major Allied offensive someday soon. However, if Germany suspects their security has been compromised, the entire mission will be discovered and all the information would be useless." Then, Hogan looked at each of his men in turn. "I'm sure you realize now that this job cannot be taken lightly. We can't let anyone know how important this man is, not even the Underground. This is a closed operation. In addition to a security compromise, if the Krauts even suspect that they have captured someone important to the Allies, the lives of all Allied prisoners recently captured could easily be forfeit."

"Does that include the one in the guest quarters right now, Colonel?" Carter asked innocently, but the question gave Hogan pause.

"What did you just say…?" he trailed off, stunned at the possibility that had just gone through his mind.

"Carter opened his mouth to repeat himself, but just then, Sergeant Wilson came barging in the door. "Colonel Hogan, the prisoner is waking up!"

*****************************************************************************************************


	4. New Faces, New Surroundings, New Suspici...

**Author's Notes:** _ Italics_ are written words, consider them the same as spoken conversation

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 4: New Faces, New Surroundings, New Suspicions 

Liam's crawl back to consciousness was painful, slow, and especially difficult once he was coherent enough to remember exactly what had happened to him. He almost didn't want to open his eyes; he had no idea where he had ended up, or if he was among enemies or friends. A great weight was lifted from his shoulders, though, when his eyes finally opened and focused on a man in a US Army Air Corps uniform, colonel's insignia on the collar. Wherever he was, he was among allies.

The man grinned down at him, looking very relieved. Then, he opened his mouth, as if he were saying something, but no words came out. Liam stared at him blankly, wondering what was wrong with the man's voice. The colonel stopped, looking concerned, then spoke again, but still no sound came out.

Confusion flitted across Liam's face, and he started to say, "What did you say?" but stopped when he couldn't hear any sound coming out of his own mouth. The colonel looked surprised, then turned away as if he were speaking to someone else in the room.

Liam slowly thought back to what had happened, and he started to panic as he remembered the aftermath of the explosion. He was deaf? He was deaf! What was he supposed to do now? Where was he? What was going to happen to him?

The colonel turned back around, and he must have seen the panic in Liam's eyes, because he pulled up a chair, sat down next to him, and took hold of his hand. His face was calm and reassuring, and the physical contact calmed Liam down significantly. He was among friends. There was nothing to be afraid of. He was safe.

An older man in civilian clothes came into view a moment later. The stethoscope hanging around his neck and the bag he carried made it pretty clear that he was a doctor. Now Liam was really curious as to where he was. He didn't remember getting out of Germany, and yet he was in the company of Allied soldiers and civilian medical personnel. Something just wasn't clicking. The doctor was saying something to him, but Liam could only stare blankly at him and shake his head. Then, the doctor pulled some instruments out of his bag and leaned down to peer into his ears. He nodded his head several times, took a few notes, then stepped out of view for a second, handing a pencil and paper over to the colonel.

_Can you hear at all?_, the colonel wrote down, holding the paper up for him to see.

Liam shook his head, then winced as a sharp pain went through his neck. The colonel said something to the doctor, then wrote again. _I'm going to help you sit up; however, it's going to hurt, so be ready, OK?_

Liam nodded to indicate that he was ready, and then gripped the colonel's hand tightly as he was lifted up, sending pain through his entire body. His back felt like it was on fire, as did his ribs, and for the first time he noticed that he had a rather large and unwieldy cast covering his upper body and most of his right arm. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, then let out a sigh of relief as he stopped moving and was set in a more comfortable position, sitting up. Everything still hurt, but it would fade with time.

_That better? _

He gave the colonel a skeptical look, but nodded again; then he motioned for the pencil and paper in the other man's hand. He held the pencil out and Liam automatically took in his left hand, then he set the paper in his lap. _Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, serial #9274741. Where am I?_

_LuftStalag 13, a POW camp outside of Hammelburg, Germany. The guards found you outside the wire early yesterday morning, almost dead. Do you remember how you got here?_

Liam's heart sank at the news that he was still a prisoner. From his surroundings, he could have sworn he was safe back home! But he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, considering that he hadn't expected to really escape in his condition anyway. But… Stalag 13! The one camp he had prayed not to be placed in. Oh well. He'd try to enjoy the challenge of escaping from here once he was well again. Remembering the colonel's question, he explained briefly. _I was being taken to Stalag 7. There was bombing on the road, and I was thrown from the truck just before it exploded. Woke up seriously injured, deaf, had to find shelter. Remembered lights up the road, must have been here. Nothing after that._

The colonel relayed some information to the doctor, then he looked back at Liam and nodded understandingly. _Don't worry; we'll take good care of you here. By the way, I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer. The doctor is Dr. Freiling, from Hammelburg. He'll look out for you until you've recovered. He says to tell you that your deafness is probably temporary, if it was simply the result of an explosion._ Noticing how exhausted he looked, the colonel added, _Better get some rest. I'll have some food brought in. There will be time for details later, OK?_

Liam simply nodded his assent, never realizing that a simple conversation could be so exhausting. He smiled wanly at the colonel, Colonel Hogan, he said his name was, and whispered his thanks. Then, he let himself sink into the soft pillows behind his head and closed his eyes, eternally grateful for dreamless, painless sleep in a comfortable bed, even if it was in a prison camp.

* * * * *

Colonel Hogan was a bit surprised at this unexpected turn of events. The young pilot, Lieutenant Kincaid (an Irish name if he had ever heard one), hadn't been an escaping prisoner, but rather a lucky survivor. Hogan wondered with a brief tinge of guilt if there had been any other prisoners in the truck that didn't survive. Kincaid's escape itself had to have been nothing short of miraculous, and Hogan suddenly realized that he hadn't even said how he happened to get out of the truck before it exploded. Just another question to ask later, when he was up to talking again. Or writing, as it were. Hogan could only pray that his deafness was temporary. 

He didn't even remember the entire business with the Falcons until he was opening the barracks door, and his forgetfulness didn't have time to sink in as he was bombarded on all sides by questions about the new arrival.

* * * * *

The next morning, Liam woke up completely rested and feeling much better. That is, until he remembered where he was. Still, it didn't seem so bad yet. The bed was comfortable, the food he had eaten last night was the best he'd tasted since he'd landed in this country, and he couldn't help but notice that the room he was in was very nicely furnished. He was actually having a hard time believing this was a prison camp. Where were the guards, the Kommandant, or any of the other prisoners, for that matter? The only so-called 'prisoner' he'd seen was Colonel Hogan, and he didn't look or act much like one. Additionally, the only German he'd seen was the doctor, and he was a civilian. Nothing really seemed to fit.

He turned his head and saw the doctor, asleep in an armchair by the fireplace across the room. Glancing the other way, he noticed another man sitting in a chair next to the door. He was wearing a sergeant's uniform, American, and he was gazing at Liam with a very puzzled look on his face. He blinked when he suddenly noticed the younger man's eyes on him, then got up and pulled the chair next to the bed.

_Good morning, Lieutenant. I'm Sergeant Wilson, camp field medic. How are you feeling?_

_Much better, thanks. You and the doc did a much better job than the bumbling idiot I had for a doctor before._

_I've been meaning to ask you about that. How did all this happen to you?_

_Long story. The previous injuries, including my broken ankle, happened when my plane was shot down about two weeks ago. The Germans fixed me up most of the way, but they left my ankle untreated so I couldn't escape. Then, when I was being transported to Stalag 7 several days ago, the truck was bombed. I was thrown out, but got caught in the explosion, I guess. I don't really remember much of what happened._

Wilson was about to reply when the door behind him opened, and in walked Colonel Hogan, followed by a short man in a beret and a tall, imposing German officer wearing a monocle and carrying a riding crop. Colonel Hogan smiled and nodded good morning to the two men, then turned and started talking to the German officer, a colonel as well, as the other man came forward with a tray of food. Liam's mouth started watering at the sight of it.

Wilson passed Liam a short note. _This is Corporal Louis LeBeau, our resident gourmet chef. You wanna sit up and have some breakfast?_

Liam nodded as vigorously as he was able, and as soon as he was sitting up with the tray in his lap, he scribbled a note to LeBeau. _Ainsi c'était vous qui a fait le dîner? Il était délicieux, merci beaucoup._(Translation: So it was you who made dinner? It was delicious, thank you very much.)

LeBeau read the note, surprised, then replied, _Vous écrivez le français? Pouvez-vous le parler également?_ (Translation: You write French? Can you speak it also?)

Liam nodded, then dug into breakfast with a hearty appetite. He never thought food could taste this good. He was almost through when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Colonel Hogan standing there, the German colonel looking impatiently over his shoulder.

_Lieutenant Kincaid, this is the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Klink. He has given you permission to stay in the guest quarters until you are fully recovered, and the doctor will be available until you no longer need him._ Liam looked at the note, slightly puzzled.

_The guest quarters? Why the guest quarters?_

_Because that's where you are right now. Where did you think you were, the barracks? I only wish!_

_No sir, I was hoping that I wasn't at a prison camp at all. This has me a little confused._

_That's OK. There will be time for explanations later. Right now, the doctor wants to check your injuries, so I'll come back in a few hours. Keep resting; it seems to do you a world of good._

_Thank you sir, I'll consider it an order. _

As Liam lay there being examined by the doctor, he let him mind drift. This really was an odd prison camp. Decent food, a civilian doctor, medical patients in the guest quarters, which he assumed were set aside for visiting German officials, and a rather pompous Kommandant who managed to look official and overbearing but was more friendly with the prisoners, especially Colonel Hogan, than seemed natural. This place was too good to be true. Or was that just what they wanted him to think? Maybe this was all a German ploy to get him to slip up and tell them something better kept to himself. Maybe this would all change once he recovered and they could start interrogating him properly. 

One thing was for sure, he concluded as the doctor finished his examination and left him alone with his thoughts. He couldn't run the risk of letting anyone know anything about him. He couldn't technically trust anyone, not yet. Maybe not ever. This whole place just seemed too humane to be for real, and he wasn't about to take any chances. 

* * * * *

The next few days passed rather uneventfully, though Liam's health was improving rapidly. He was able to sit up and, with assistance, even get out of bed, though he wasn't walking just yet. He spent most of his time sleeping, or having conversations with the colonel or Sergeant Wilson. Conversation on paper took time, but Liam was fast developing an easy shorthand with the two men, which made things easier. 

His conversations with Colonel Hogan did nothing to allay his suspicions about the ulterior motives of this place, though, and as a result he was extremely vague and non-responsive when Hogan asked him questions about himself, his mission, or his past. Liam got the feeling that it was starting to tick the Colonel off, but he remained strong in his decision nevertheless. Hogan seemed like a friendly, honest, trustworthy man, but things, and people, are not always what they seem to be. So Liam remained evasive and promised to himself that he would apologize sincerely to Colonel Hogan if and when he turned out to be trustworthy in Liam's estimation. 

It was hard being so evasive, though, and all these suspicions were beginning to wear on Liam's mind and spirits as well. His lack of movement wasn't helping matters any, so it was a great occasion indeed when Dr. Freiling came in one morning followed by Sergeant Wilson with a wheelchair. _It's from his clinic in Hammelburg,_ Wilson explained. _The doc thinks you have too much time on your hands. You need to move around, go outside, get some fresh air!_

The thought of being able to get out of this suffocating room was intoxicating. For the first time in a long while, Liam smiled brightly and asked Wilson to thank the doctor profusely. Then, looking down at the state of his clothing, he asked, _You don't suppose they have any extra uniforms lying about, do you?_

Wilson replied by tossing a set of uniforms down on the bed. _The shirts have been modified to accommodate that cast of yours, and you should be able to put them on yourself, if you think you're up to it._ Then, he helped Liam into the wheelchair and sent him in the direction of the washroom. _Just holler if you need any help._

Washing up and putting on new clothes was just as hard as Liam supposed it would be the first time, but he guessed he was lucky that he was left-handed and that it was his collarbone that was broken, so he at least had limited use of his right hand. He washed up as best he could, pulled out some important items, including the engagement ring and his rosary, from secret pockets in his old clothes, and got dressed in the well-fitting, nicely tailored new uniform. It even had an airman's scarf and cap to go with it. Once he was done, and feeling better than he had in weeks, he wheeled himself one-handed back into his room, a smile on his face.

* * * * *

It was an uncharacteristically beautiful September day, and Hogan was content to just relax outside for once. No missions to worry about, unless he counted this business with the Falcons. London had radioed in last night to give them some more information. Now he had call signs and codes to identify the missing Falcon with, and they also told him about a certain tattoo on the man's shoulder in the shape of a bird of prey with its wings spread in the Allied "V" for Victory. They had also said that they were planning on sending the other Falcon into Germany within a week or so if his brother wasn't located, and that it would be the job of Papa Bear to rendezvous with him and give him a place to stay until they could find a starting place to search. Some information was just too top secret to be sent over the radio, Hogan supposed, but it was a relatively simple mission compared to some of their recent exploits.

A shadow fell across his face, and Hogan opened his eyes to glance upward. It was Sergeant Wilson. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you'd like to know that Kincaid is up and about. Dr. Freiling brought him a wheelchair until his leg is healed enough to walk on, and he stated in no uncertain terms that the kid should get fresh air and sunlight."

"Oh really?" Hogan was pleased at the doctor's concern. He had been worried about Kincaid being cooped up in that room for so long, so this truly was good news. "Well, I guess I'll just have to give him the grand tour, won't I?" With that, he hopped to his feet and headed off towards the guest quarters.

When Hogan walked into the guest quarters, he saw Kincaid sitting at the open window, looking out on the bustling camp. He was dressed in the new uniform that Newkirk and Carter had made up for him, complete with a jacket, cap, scarf, and proper insignia. He finally looked like a soldier again, and he seemed much more at ease with his situation. Hogan walked up behind him and gently touched him on the shoulder.

He felt Kincaid jump a bit at the touch, but guessed that was only natural. He probably wasn't used to someone entering a room without him hearing them. He looked behind him to see who it was, then turned around slowly, using his left hand to steer the chair, and saluted his new Commanding Officer.

Hogan smiled and saluted back, then pulled up a chair of his own and got out the ever-present pencil and paper. _You clean up nicely, Lieutenant. I almost didn't recognize you!_ Kincaid still looked extremely pale and thin, his curly, jet-black hair making him look paler still, but his emerald-green eyes held a sparkle of life that hadn't been present before, and he was smiling slightly. Yes, Hogan concluded, he was definitely feeling better.

_Thank you, sir. It feels wonderful to be up and about._ He turned back to the window for a moment, a sad, wistful look in his eyes. _It will be nicer when I can get up and walk around, though._

Hogan understood completely. Kincaid was a pilot, as were many of the men here at Stalag 13; freedom was in their blood. Being confined to a prison camp was bad enough; restriction of movement would make any man go stir-crazy. _You want to take the grand tour? The doc prescribed sunshine and fresh air, and I can't think of a better way to get it._

Kincaid's eyes lit up at the prospect. _Oh, yes please!_ He wheeled himself to the door, which Hogan opened for him, then the colonel took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed Liam through the sitting room, out the door, and into the sunlight.

Liam had almost forgotten how good fresh air and sunshine felt. As Colonel Hogan showed him around camp, pointing out the barracks, mess hall, rec building, and kommandant's office, they were joined by several other men whom Liam recognized from his past few days in camp. They had all come in or been around the guest quarters with Colonel Hogan at one time or another, and they had the same demeanor around the German officers that he did. This made Liam a little suspicious of them, but they seemed really friendly.

Hogan formally introduced them all this time. Liam recognized the Frenchman, LeBeau, as the man who'd brought him his meals. The mischievous-looking man in the RAF uniform was Corporal Peter Newkirk, the black American officer was Sergeant James "Kinch" Kinchloe, and the young, friendly-looking American in the funny hat was Sergeant Andrew Carter. They all seemed to be close friends and compatriots of Colonel Hogan's; Hogan informed Liam that they all bunked in Barracks 2, where he had his senior officer's quarters, and also confided that there was an extra bunk reserved for him as soon as he was well enough to join them. Liam thanked him for the privilege of bunking with the commanding officer and his 'senior staff,' as Hogan referred to them. However, he thought it was odd that he would receive such attention from the Senior POW Officer or his men.

In spite of his concerns, he passed a pleasant afternoon with the companionable group of men. Once the tour of the camp was over (there wasn't much to see), the six men passed the afternoon sitting on the porch of the guest quarters, enjoying the warm sun and passing notes back and forth to Liam like boys in grade school again. They made him feel welcome, despite their surroundings, and Liam basked in the feeling of friendship and normality again, if only for a little while. 

For all their questions, though, he didn't give them any real information either. He hated being so evasive with such open-seeming men, but he wasn't about to take any chances. In his tour of the camp, he had the strange suspicion that something bigger was going on here. What it was, he wasn't sure, but his instincts told him to play his hand close to his vest until he truly was out of harm's way. 

Once he was back in his room under the care of Sergeant Wilson, he asked the medic about the odd atmosphere he sensed around camp. _Colonel Hogan and the men close to him seem so open and sort of friendly with the guards. Why is that? It just doesn't seem natural._

_There's no need to worry, Kincaid. The colonel seems friendly with the Germans in order to keep them friendly with him and the other men in camp. The less animosity they can hold towards the prisoners, the better. The colonel knows exactly what he's doing. He's turned the entire atmosphere of this camp around since he's been here._ Then Wilson smiled as he noticed the skepticism on Liam's face. _There's **nothing** to worry about, Lieutenant! Colonel Hogan's a good man. He's not trying to trick you, and he's certainly not going to let anything happen to you. It's his influence that kept you alive, you know. He convinced the Kommandant to bring you in here and get a doctor and all. He cares about every man that comes through this camp. So stop being so suspicious!_

The sincerity of Wilson's statement eased Liam's suspicions somewhat, so he conceded. _I guess I should have seen that. It's just that with everything that's happened… I'm still a little worried, you know? If the Gestapo find out that I'm still alive, I don't think even Colonel Hogan can protect me from what they will do._ The thought made him shudder. He didn't want to see a member of the Gestapo ever again, if he could avoid it. _Seeing him and his men being friendly with German soldiers… it's a little disconcerting._

Wilson nodded understandingly and helped Liam settle back down in bed for dinner and a good night's sleep. _I can see how it would be, but you have nothing to worry about, I promise. Now get some sleep. It's been a long day considering your condition, and I'm sure you're exhausted. We'll have you up and about in no time, but until then, you need your rest._

_Thanks, Wilson. For everything._ And he meant it, sincerely. He trusted Wilson implicitly, over anyone else in this camp.

_It's been my pleasure, Kincaid. Now sleep! I'll be back to check on you in the morning._

_Goodnight._ And he settled back to sleep and dream of home.

* * * * *

In the days following Kincaid's first excursion outside, Hogan and his men had less than no luck locating the Falcon, but on the bright side, their new arrival seemed to be recovering quicker than expected. The stitches were taken out of his forehead, back, left shoulder, and the portions of his right arm that weren't covered in a cast. He was even able to get up and walk around after a day or so, with the help of some metal crutches that clasped around his forearms so he didn't have to place any of his weight on his injured shoulder. Dr. Freiling hadn't approved of his walking so soon, but Klink was itching to send his new prisoner to the barracks before General Burkhaulter found out that he was using the guest quarters as an infirmary, and Liam was adamant about being able to stand on his own two feet before he took up permanent residence here at Stalag 13. 

The most amazing recovery, though, was to his hearing. One morning, Newkirk came into the guest quarters with breakfast and allowed the door to slam behind him. Liam had been sitting at the window, his back to the door, and when it slammed he turned around to see what the noise was. Since that morning, his range of hearing had been improving steadily. He had been able to hear whistles, bells, doors slamming, and loud voices within a day, and by the day he was ready to move into the barracks, he could hear himself and others talking in normal voices.

Dr. Freiling had taken his leave of camp the day before, pronouncing Liam of sound mind and body, for the most part, and telling him that he had been a model patient. Liam hadn't had much chance to talk to the doctor during his recovery because Freiling didn't write English and Liam didn't want to give away the fact that he could read and write German, but he genuinely liked the fatherly man and thanked him from the bottom of his heart for taking time away from his fellow countrymen and his practice to save the life of a POW.

"Bitte schoen, Lieutenant, you are welcome. It was both my duty and my pleasure. Now remember: Do not exert yourself too much and be sure to report to Sergeant Wilson on a regular basis. I will be back in several weeks to remove that cast from your arm."

"From my body, you mean, Herr Doktor," Liam laughed, as the cast wrapped around most of his chest and upper body in order to keep his shoulder immobile. "Don't worry, I will follow your instructions to the letter. Thank you again."

The doctor kindly tipped his hat, wished Liam good health, and left with an "Auf Weidersen."

The next day, the day he was to move into the barracks, Liam was sitting in his room with Newkirk, enjoying a morning cup of coffee, courtesy of the men in Barracks 2, and talking about their respective home cities of London and Dublin. With Liam's hearing almost fully recovered, conversation was easy and enjoyable, but it was Newkirk who turned towards the door when he heard the thud of booted feet in the next room. Liam noticed his glance and asked, "What is it?"

At that instant, the door banged open, startling Liam enough that he dropped his coffee cup, which fell to the floor and broke with a *crash* in the ensuing silence. Standing in the doorway next to Colonel Klink was a short, dark-haired, nasty-looking man dressed in the uniform of a Gestapo major and accompanied by two burly-looking guards.

The major stalked forward, glaring at the two men. Then, he pointed a finger at Newkirk and barked, "You! Get out!" Newkirk cast a worried look between Liam and the major, but at Liam's panicked nod and Klink's pleading gestures, he beat a hasty retreat. He would, however, never forget the look of pure terror in the younger man's eyes as the Gestapo major, a man that Colonel Hogan knew well, rounded on Kincaid before the door closed behind him.

Once Newkirk had left the room, the major turned on the hapless prisoner who was doing his best to stand his ground, despite the panic in his eyes. "So, you are Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, Serial Number 9274741?" Liam nodded slowly, his heart racing. "I am Major Hochstetter, Gestapo. We have heard much about you from General Kreiss, Lieutenant. You will come with us."

*****************************************************************************************************


	5. A Few Surprises

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 5: A Few Surprises 

Colonel Hogan had just returned from Klink's office after attempting to find out what the Gestapo wanted with Lieutenant Kincaid when Kinch came up from the radio room.

"Message from London, Colonel. They're sending the Falcon in here in four days to help the Underground search for his brother, and they want us to bunk him here until he gets a lead on where the German's might have taken him. They'll send us the drop coordinates and code in a few days; the Gestapo's radio truck showed up just as we were replying, so they had to cut the transmission short."

Hogan glanced at the message, then crumpled it into a ball and angrily threw it into a corner of his office. "This is just great! We haven't the faintest idea where this guy is, God only knows why London seems to think he's still alive, much less accessible; we've got to bring his brother in here with the Gestapo breathing down our necks; and on top of that, I've now got a seriously injured lieutenant who's been placed in indefinite solitary confinement because Major Hochstetter thinks he might be able to provide the Gestapo with 'useful' information!"

Kinch was startled at this revelation. "Indefinite solitary confinement? But why? I mean, if Kincaid is that important to the Gestapo, why haven't they been looking for him? He been here at Stalag 13 for at least two weeks."

Hogan shrugged. "They presumed him dead, I suppose, after they found the wreckage of that transport truck. And with Klink's usual level of efficiency, he didn't send in the paperwork on his new prisoner until yesterday, because he didn't want General Burkhaulter showing up here and finding a POW in the guest quarters. Kincaid's name threw up a red flag at Burkhaulter's office, so he called the Gestapo. Major Hochstetter seems to think that he has important information that he is willing to turn over… with some persuasion." At that thought, Hogan shuddered. "I'd hate to think what the Gestapo would do to an already injured man! And he's hardly even that! Newkirk said that when the Gestapo came storming into his room, the kid was absolutely terrified!" He slumped down into his chair, at a loss for what to do.

Kinch took a seat on the bunk across from him. "What do they think he could possibly tell them, Colonel? He's just a pilot, and a lieutenant at that."

"I don't know, and that's what worries me. I walked in on Major Hochstetter saying that he had already given a General Kreiss some valuable information and the Gestapo just wanted to clear up a few details. But Kincaid never mentioned anything about an interrogation."

"Well sir," Kinch considered, "he never told us much of anything. We know he was captured, held somewhere where some of his injuries were taken care of, and that he escaped from a truck transporting him to Stalag 7 just before it exploded. We know he's a pilot for the RAF, a lieutenant, and that he grew up in Dublin, Ireland. But there's no details in that. We have no idea how long he's been in Germany, where he was before he came here, how he escaped, or even anything about his life before we met him. Who knows what he might not have told us."

"Good point, Kinch. That kid is as tight-lipped as the Secret Service and as evasive with us as we are with the Germans! So there's absolutely no way to get any straight answers out of him. And now with the Gestapo keeping an eye on him, we may never find out what he told that general. And it places our other mission in jeopardy if they stick around too long. Then we'll have two prisoners to rescue instead of one. Unless…" He trailed off, and Kinch knew that a plan was forming somewhere inside that amazing mind of his. "All I really need is to get the Gestapo out of this neck of the woods for a few days. Then we can bring in the Falcon, and we'll be pulling Kincaid out of the fire and find out what it is that has the Gestapo so interested in him. Kinch, I want you to place a call to Major Hochstetter tomorrow afternoon telling him that he is urgently needed at Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin. That's far enough away that he won't be back for at least a few days. Then, Wilson and I will have access to the cooler so we can check on Kincaid."

"But why tomorrow afternoon, sir? Why not right now?"

"We don't want to raise suspicions too fast, Kinch. We need Hochstetter gone for at least three days, so the later he leaves, the longer it'll be before he gets back."

"But how are you planning to get into the cooler, sir? Won't Hochstetter leave guards?"

"Tell him that all his men are needed. Say it's for… security precautions. They want him to be protected on his way to Berlin, so that he gets there safely. Once he's gone, all it will take is doctor's orders… and some of LeBeau's apple strudel."

* * * * *

The next evening, no more than an hour or so after the entire contingent of Gestapo had left in a great hurry, Hogan, LeBeau, and Wilson headed for the cooler with food for Schultz and his prisoner. Hogan loved the fact that Klink was so predictable. As the three men slipped inside, they noticed that not only was Schultz the only soldier guarding Kincaid's cell, he was also the only guard within ten feet of the building. Obviously, the threat of Kincaid escaping while in his condition wasn't very likely. Hogan couldn't decide whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

"Hey there, Schultz!" Hogan called out as the men came upon the solitary cell. "How's the guard duty?"

Schultz jumped up from the chair he'd been dozing in and turned towards the contingent of POWs heading towards him. "Colonel Hogan, you are not supposed to be here!" he moaned, sounding rather uncertain of that fact. "Please go away, and no monkey business. If anything happens to the lieutenant, Major Hochstetter will send me to the Russian Front!"

Hogan shook his head to Schultz's pleas though, and Wilson stepped forward to explain. "Sorry Schultz, but these are Dr. Freiling's orders. I have to check on Kincaid to make sure his injuries are healing correctly. He made that very clear to the Kommandant."

Le Beau piped up as well, "Oui, and you would not want the poor boy to starve, would you, Schultzie?" To reinforce his point, he whipped the cover off the plate of apple strudel and waved it under the portly sergeant's nose. "I made some special just for you, because guard duty is a difficult job."

Hogan grinned as he watched Schultz go weak in the knees at the sight of the apple strudel. "So whaddya say, Schultz? We promise we'll just be in and out. It shouldn't take too long."

"I suppose… a few minutes wouldn't hurt…" Schultz mumbled distractedly, staring at the strudel. Then, snapping out of his trance, he pulled out the keys and opened the door. Wilson rushed in, and Hogan was about to follow him when Schultz put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him aside. "Please, Colonel Hogan, help him if you can," he said in a low, pleading voice. "He is such a young boy, and he seemed so kind and friendly before. The Gestapo… he is very afraid of the Gestapo, and I do not want to think of the horrible things they will do to him. If you can do anything, I will see nothing! I give my word!"

Hogan smiled understandingly at the compassionate sergeant and placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's why we're here, Schultz. And don't worry. I don't want anything to happen to him either." He would have said more, but he was interrupted by Sergeant Wilson's shout from inside the cell.

"Colonel, Louis, I need your help in here!" 

Hogan exchanged a worried glance with Schultz before he and LeBeau rushed in. What they saw caused a gasp of surprise to escape Hogan, and LeBeau almost fainted. Silently, Hogan berated himself for not calling the Gestapo off sooner. He was afraid something like this would happen.

Wilson was kneeling next to Lieutenant Kincaid, who was sprawled out on the concrete floor of the tiny room, unconscious. As Hogan knelt down for a closer look, he noticed a nasty bump on Kincaid's left temple. He had dark bruises on his cheek and along his jawline and was sporting a rather impressive black eye. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, but Wilson was quick to allay Hogan's fears as to where it had all come from.

"Don't worry, sir. He just has a bloody nose and a split lip. We need to get him on the bed, though, so I can make sure those Gestapo bastards didn't do anything worse." He looked around for a second. "Where's LeBeau?"

Hogan looked behind him in time to see the corner of a red scarf disappear around the doorway. "He can't stand the sight of blood. It's probably best that he wait out there with Schultz." Then, at Wilson's nod, he turned Kincaid over on his back, being very careful not to jostle his right shoulder in its cast. He got his arms up under Kincaid's back as Wilson grabbed his legs, and they set him down on the bed. As Wilson went to get fresh water and bandages, Hogan uprighted a chair that had been lying in one corner of the room and pulled it next to the bed. Sitting down, Hogan put a hand on Kincaid's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Hey, Kincaid, can you hear me? You awake, son?"

After a moment or so of gentle insistence, Kincaid began to stir. However, as he regained consciousness, he became very tense. His pulse started racing, and his eyes opened, looking around wildly, their emerald gaze glassy and unfocussed. "O's that?" he called out, his voice hoarse and panic-stricken. "Please, I don't know an'thin'. I swear ah don't!" He began to struggle, trying to get away from Hogan's touch.

Hogan was surprised by his reaction. He hadn't expected anything like this. Gently but insistently, he said in a low voice, "I'm not here to hurt you, Liam. It's Colonel Hogan. The Gestapo are gone. You're safe now." At the mention of the Gestapo, he had stiffened, but he started to calm down at Hogan's insistence that he was safe.

"'S that Colonel 'Ogan?" he slurred, eyes staring but not seeing Hogan's face. Sergeant Wilson came back at that point and started examining him for further injuries, so Hogan decided it was best to keep him calm and his mind focused.

"Yes it is. Can you give me your name, rank, and serial number?"

"L'ten'nt Li'm Ki'caid, Roy'l Air F'rce, ser'l number 9 – 2 – 7 – 47 – 4 – 1."

"Good. Do you remember where you are?"

"POW camp… pris'n cell?" He started to sound a little frightened, but slightly more coherent. "The Gest'po… they… they…"

"Calm down, Lieutenant," Hogan said gently. "They're not here anymore. Can you tell me what they wanted?"

"Ans'rs."

"Answers? To what?"

"Quest'ns."

"Questions about what?"

"Mah mis'n."

"And what was your mission?"

"Jes' flyin'. But they dinna b'lieve me."

Wilson chose that moment to break in and pull Hogan aside. Keeping his voice low, he summarized Kincaid's condition. "Well, sir, it looks like all the Gestapo did was smack him around a bit. The worst he's got is that goose egg on his head, and it looks like they did that to knock him unconscious before they left. Do you think they'll be coming back, sir? Because there's no guarantees that they'll stay so 'civil', and in his condition, I don't know how much more of this he can take. He's been expending all his energy to fear, and he can't afford that. What can we do, Colonel?"

Hogan knew there was really nothing he could do. With this top-secret mission on the ropes and a missing pilot to find, the less suspicion he arose in regards to the Gestapo, the better. And somehow he doubted that the Secret Service would appreciate him risking the safety of their two top agents for a 20-year-old RAF lieutenant. They'd just have to keep an eye on him until the Falcon was gone, then they could work on a plan to get him away from Hochstetter.

"I bought him as much time as I could; hopefully, it will be enough. I wish I could do more, but I can't without arousing suspicion we really can't afford at the moment. Schultz will be keeping an eye on him, though, and we'll be able to get in here at least once a day to check up on him. Do you think that will be enough?"

Wilson nodded his head, resigned to the situation. "It will have to be, won't it, sir? And hopefully he'll start to calm down some once his head clears. I will check on him daily, though, to make sure he's doing alright."

"Sounds like a plan, Wilson." He sent the sergeant off to find LeBeau and the food, then he returned to the bed to check on Kincaid again.

"Hey, Kincaid," he said soothingly, and the young man turned his head slowly towards the sound of his voice. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to look out for you, son. You needn't worry about the Gestapo for a bit. I promise I'll be back tomorrow, but for now, you just rest. You'll feel better by tomorrow, and I promise you'll be out of here before you know it, OK?"

He waited for a response and got none, so he figured Kincaid was probably asleep. However, as he got up to go, the lieutenant's good left hand closed tightly over his wrist. Hogan turned back to see panic in the young man's face. Not as incoherent as before, but panic nonetheless. He was whispering something, so Hogan leaned in to hear him better. Kincaid's voice sounded urgent.

"Colonel, ya canna let 'em take me 'way. If they break me, if… if they fin' out wot ah know, the war's as good as over. Please! Ya gotta help me! Keep them away!" 

Hogan put his hand over Kincaid's before the boy could start hyperventilating and reassured him that they wouldn't let the Gestapo take him anywhere. Gradually, the panic in his face melted away and his eyes dropped closed. Hogan eased his hand out of the young man's iron grip and left the room with Wilson and LeBeau after leaving the tray of food on the chair next to the bed.

It wasn't until he was back in the barracks, sitting in his quarters, that Hogan actually realized what Lieutenant Kincaid had said. And it confused him. How could the success of the entire war hinge on information known by a 20-year-old RAF pilot? Maybe that knock on the head had confused him, but he'd seemed pretty sure of that fact. Or maybe… Maybe there was more to this pilot than met the eye. On a fleeting suspicion, he went and found Sergeant Wilson again just before lights out.

"Hey, Wilson, when you and the doc were patching Kincaid up, did you happen to notice any markings or tattoos on his right shoulder?"

Wilson looked thoughtful for a minute, then slowly shook his head. "I can't rightly say, sir. I mean, his entire arm was shredded to a bloody pulp, so we were more concentrating on putting everything back in place, but I don't recall seeing anything like that. Why do you ask, sir?"

Hogan shrugged, clearly disappointed. "Just hoping that he was more than who he seemed to be."

* * * * *

The whole crew slept fitfully that night, each worried in his own way about the fate of the young lieutenant sitting in solitary. Hogan paced the floor of his quarters until well after midnight in the darkness before he couldn't stand the wait anymore and crept out to check on his men.

He stood in the middle of Barracks 2, surveying each one of the bunks in turn. He saw that Carter had kicked his blanket onto the floor, and as he went over to pull it back over the sleeping demolitionist, he noticed the telltale glow of a cigarette.

Newkirk was lying on the bunk above Carter's, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. He'd been chain-smoking since the Gestapo had thrown him out of Kincaid's room yesterday morning, and Hogan was surprised he hadn't yet run out of cigarettes.

"Anything wrong, Colonel?" he asked when he noticed Hogan standing there.

Hogan shook his head. "Just couldn't sleep." His eyes crossed the room and fell on LeBeau, who was tossing and turning and muttering in his sleep. Then, Hogan's eyes fell on an empty bunk. "Newkirk? Where's Kinch?"

Newkirk replied without looking over, "Radio room. Guess we're not the only insomniacs 'round here."

"No, guess we're not," Hogan said distractedly. "I'll go down and see what's up."

When he got down to the radio room, he found Kinch staring at the ceiling, listening to static through the radio headset. He sat up and pulled it off when Hogan walked into the room.

"What's up, Colonel?"

"Nothing much. Just having a restless night."

Kinch sympathized. "Sorry to hear that, sir. I couldn't sleep either. Seems we've all got things on our minds tonight."

"I'll just rest easier when Kincaid is out of the Gestapo's interest and this whole business with the Falcon is over. I'd get him out of there right now if we didn't have to worry about that spy."

"That's understandable, sir. How was he doing when you saw him?" Kinch hadn't gotten a chance to ask before; when Hogan got back from the cooler, he'd headed straight to his office and closed the door, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Hogan shook his head. "Not good by any means. They knocked him around quite a bit before they left. He was barely coherent enough to speak, and he seems completely terrified of the Gestapo. I'm hoping that was just a product of his delirium. I was actually thinking about going up there right now to check on him. Schultz should be fast asleep after all that strudel."

That made Kinch smile. "We can always count on Schultz. Best of luck to you, sir, and I hope he's doing better." As Hogan proceeded down the tunnel, Kinch pulled the headset back on and resumed his interest in the static.

Hogan slipped into one of the cooler cells by way of a tunnel under the washstand, slipped out the open door, and was rewarded by a soundly sleeping Schultz just down the hallway from Kincaid's cell, keys dangling loosely from his belt. Hogan quietly borrowed the key ring, unlocked the door, and slowly and silently let himself into Kincaid's cell, leaving the door slightly ajar.

He was surprised to see Kincaid awake and out of bed. The young lieutenant was standing at the barred window, left hand holding him up in the absence of crutches. The glow of the searchlight passed over the camp, illuminating his face for just a moment, and Hogan saw that same wistful look in his eyes. Hogan cleared his throat slightly, to get Kincaid's attention, and the young man jumped and turned around quickly, startled. He relaxed when he saw his CO, his eyes widening just slightly as he looked between Hogan and the barely open door.

"Good evening, sir," he said, his voice guarded as he limped back to the bed and sat down. "If ya don't mind my askin', sir, what brings you here at this time of night?"

Hogan sat down in the chair he had used before, which was still sitting by the bed. "You, of course. I wanted to see how you were doing, considering the shape you were in earlier."

"Aye," Liam gingerly touched the bump on his head, shuddering slightly in remembrance of how he came to have it. "I'd say those Krauts got a wee bit touchy when I wouldna tell 'em what they wanted to know." He tried to make the words sound light, but his voice was shaky. "Guess they figured they'd have as easy a time of it as General Kreiss did."

Well, now they were getting somewhere. "What exactly do you mean by that, Lieutenant? Did you give this General Kreiss information?"

"Not really, sir. I answered his questions, but I didn't give him any information. The general was denying me food and medical attention to get me to talk, so I figured I'd tell him what he wanted to hear so that he wouldn't resort to more 'extreme' methods…" His voice dropped off for a second and he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I gave in easily so he wouldn't have any reason to disbelieve me. He said that the Gestapo were interested in what I had to say, but I had planned to be long gone before they got a chance to take that interest to a more 'personal' level." He rubbed his forehead and winced. "Guess my luck ran out a good while ago, though."

"Why do you say that?" Hogan was a little perplexed by his answer. He could see where Kincaid could give answers without giving information; he'd been doing it ever since he got here. But he seemed extremely afraid of being interrogated by force; was he afraid of what they would do to him? Or was it the information they could get out of him?

"Well, sir, ah was planning on making good my escape as soon as I got to Stalag 7. When the truck blew and ah ended up here, it kinda put a damper in my plans. Then, with the Gestapo showin' up and all…" he looked down at his hands, his face full of despair, "ah guess I'm well and truly caught now. An' I'm not sure what to do about it." 

Hogan was quick to reassure him that the Gestapo couldn't ask him questions forever, but he was surprised at Kincaid's attitude towards escaping. "So you hadn't even gotten to a prison camp and you were already planning an escape? You got a girl waiting for you back home or something?"

Liam smiled sadly at this. "Well, yes sir, I do." His hand went unconsciously to his chest, as if searching for something there. "But that's not mah reason, not really. My reasons are my own." The hardened look that came over his face told Hogan not to push any further.

With that, the conversation died, leaving each man alone with his thoughts. Hogan was puzzled by what an enigma Kincaid was turning out to be. In all the conversations they'd had, with all the questions he'd asked, his admission to having a girlfriend or fiancée back home was the closest he'd gotten to actually learning anything about Kincaid's personal life. Most of the time, the kid led him into such roundabout conversations that it took Hogan hours to realize he hadn't gotten any of the information he'd meant to ask him about in the first place. Kincaid played him almost as well as he played Klink and the rest of the Germans, and it infuriated Hogan to be on the receiving end of his own game.

Hogan opened his mouth to ask Kincaid exactly why it was that he was so intent on avoiding interrogation, even at the risk of his own life, when the slightly open door was pushed ajar and Kinch slipped into the room. Kincaid was the first to react, jerking backwards and pressing his back to the wall, until he realized who it was. Then, he glanced from one man to the other, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Hogan would have explained, but the look on Kinch's face told him it was urgent. They walked over to the far side of the room, keeping their voices low.

"Man, that kid's as jumpy as they come!" Kinch remarked before getting down to business. "Sorry about the interruption, Colonel, but it's urgent. It seems that the Falcon decided to jump early. As in tonight. I sent LeBeau and Newkirk out through the tunnel five minutes ago, and the location of his drop coordinates means it shouldn't take them too long to find him. I figured you'd want to be back when he got here, for a debriefing." And hopefully a good chewing out for changing plans like that, he thought, but didn't say it.

"He jumped early? Why weren't we told about this this afternoon!"

"According to London, they didn't even find out until they found his plane and copilot missing. He radioed them twenty minutes ago to give them his revised plans and told them to contact us."

Hogan took a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. A change in plans was the last think they needed! But it obviously couldn't be helped now. "Well, it seems that we are going to have a rather… obstinate guest with us for a few days. Just what I need. I'll be down right behind you, Kinch. Leave the door open on your way out, willya?"

Kinch nodded and left as silently as he had come. Hogan turned back to find that Kincaid hadn't moved a muscle during their entire exchange. He sat there, eyes wary, back against the wall, and he was staring at Hogan with an odd expression on his face.

"Do all your men have personal access to the solitary cells, Colonel, or is there something else going on here that I'm not aware of?" he asked, incredulously.

Damn. Hogan hadn't expected the kid to be that perceptive, but after Kinch's appearance, he was bound to realize something was up. However, there was no time to explain the entire operation now. It would have to wait until after the Falcon was taken care of. "It's been an odd night, Lieutenant. I promise I'll explain everything to you later, but something's come up and I really have to go right now. I will be back tomorrow, though. I promise."

Kincaid just stared at him, doubt evident on his face. "You have pressing business in a POW camp at one-thirty in the morning?" He sounded skeptical and a bit confused, but Hogan had already headed for the door.

"Sleep well, Lieutenant," he tossed over his shoulder as he slid out, closing the cell door behind him. He replaced the keys on Schultz's belt, the man was still fast asleep and snoring softly, and headed back towards the tunnel to meet up with the Falcon.

* * * * *

Hogan was less than pleased at this turn of events, and he wondered exactly who this Falcon thought he was. You don't just change schedules without warning in this business! And this man was supposed to be the very best spy the Secret Service had! Or maybe it was his missing brother who was the brains of the operation.

Hogan made it back to the radio room and met up with Kinch and Carter. He updated them on Kincaid's condition, and the three of them were discussing plans for the Falcon's arrival and debriefing when they heard footsteps coming down the tunnel. The three men piled into the main tunnel to be met by LeBeau, Newkirk, and a man in a Royal Air Force uniform, lieutenant's stripes on his sleeve. He was carrying a loaded kit pack on his back, and a black mask covered his face.

"Papa Bear, ah presume?" His voice had an Irish lilt to it and sounded vaguely familiar.

Hogan nodded and stepped forward. "Yes, I am Papa Bear. Colonel Robert Hogan, US Army Air Corps. Welcome to Stalag 13, our base of operations. You caught us a bit by surprise, Lieutenant…?"

"Kincaid," the man said as he reached up and pulled off the mask, revealing a startlingly familiar face. "Lieutenant Kieran Sean Kincaid, Royal Air Force. Though ah'm better known as Falcon."

*****************************************************************************************************


	6. Bittersweet Reunion

**Author's Notes:** The word _leth-aon_, which will be used in this and subsequent chapters without translation, means "twin" in Gaelic. _Italics_ in this chapter are also in Gaelic. However, the translation is rough, so please forgive any mistakes if you happen to know Gaelic.

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 6: Bittersweet Reunion 

The five men just stared, mouths open in shock as the new arrival explained himself, oblivious to their surprise.

"Sorry about the secrecy and all that, but I can't risk being seen or recognized by any Germans as long as my brother's lost somewhere in this godforsaken country. And as for the change in plans, I apologize profusely, but there have been some new developments that have come up, and the sooner we find my brother, the better. I must say, Colonel Hogan, that I have been studying what the Allied High Command knows about your operation extensively, and I never expected… What?" He had finally looked up to see five pairs of eyes starting at him in surprise. "What is it?"

Hogan was the first to react; he shook his head slightly and apologized. "Sorry, Lieutenant, it's just that…" he trailed off, then decided on a better course of action. "Will you come up to my office, Lieutenant? There are some things we have to discuss." Turning to his men, he signaled them all to say nothing until he had explained this 'interesting' situation to the Falcon. "If you'll follow me?" he said as he headed up the ladder. "It isn't much, but sometimes it almost feels like home."

* * * * *

"Whaddya mean 'e's here?!" Kier couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was just too good to be true.

"I mean he's here. In this camp. I'm sure that if he'd known about our operation here, he would have said something, but things have become a little… complicated, to say the least."

Kier's face went pale. "How so, complicated? He's alright, isn't he?" But he sounded as if he already knew the answer to that.

"Well, he was recently injured quite severely, I'm afraid, but he has been recovering…"

"Broken collarbone, cracked ribs, broken ankle, and deaf in both ears, right?" Kier interjected.

"Huh!?!" How the hell… Hogan stared at him. "How did you know that?" he asked, stunned.

Kier gazed at him, a cryptic, unreadable expression on his face. "I just knew."

Hogan was baffled. These two really were exactly alike! And equally evasive, much to Hogan's annoyance. "Well, yes," he continued, "those were the worst of his injuries. However, he was under good medical care until several days ago, when the Gestapo came into camp and threw him into solitary confinement for interrogation purposes. They haven't resorted to extreme methods… yet, but there's no doubt in my mind that they will as soon as he has recovered enough to survive it."

"That's what I was afraid of," Kier replied, and Hogan looked up to see the eyes of a much older man staring out of the serious expression on the young spy's face. "Colonel Hogan, sir, I am going to assume from the extent of your operation here that you have at least some influence over the German officers and guards in this camp. Is there any chance, any chance at all, that I could see Liam? I gotta let him know I'm here, I gotta talk to him and let him know where he really is. I'm probably the only person he'll listen to at this point, considering the position he's in right now." He paused and a small grin ghosted across his face. "I'm betting you had a pretty hard time getting any information out of him, didn't you, Colonel?"

Hogan confirmed this, exasperation clear in his voice. "He's been so tight-lipped it's a wonder he gave us any at all. I realize that in your line of work you have to have a certain amount of suspicion for everyone, but your twin brother takes it to the extreme, even with his fellow soldiers. He's good, though, very good. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't spent the past year playing just as evasive to the Germans."

Kier seemed to understand where Hogan was coming from; he nodded sadly as he explained, "My brother's suspicion comes from personal experience, sir. He's trusted unconditionally in the past, and that trust nearly proved fatal. I would guess that his natural suspicions were amplified by the conditions that he saw around your camp, and he assumed the most logical explanation rather than the most fantastical. As anyone would, I'm sure."

"What conditions are you talking about exactly?" Hogan was intrigued that this Lieutenant Kincaid could make that assumption before even having seen the camp.

"When Liam first arrived here, how was he treated? You mentioned something about medical care?"

"Yes, one of the doctors in Hammelburg who runs a private practice occasionally comes out to tend to sick and injured POWs. He's also a member of the Underground, so he doesn't mind as much as he lets on to Colonel Klink, the camp kommandant. Kincaid was bordering on hypothermic when he arrived, so our gracious Kommandant gave the doctor use of the camp's guest quarters in order to treat him. It wasn't an unusual thing to do, considering the circumstances."

"So your Kommandant is a relatively compassionate man?"

"I guess you could say that. Some fast-talking on my part helped a bit. I just let him think that it was his idea in the end."

"And did Li know that you had helped secure him a more comfortable infirmary for his recovery?"

Hogan was curious as to where these questions were leading. "I think our medic, Sergeant Wilson, mentioned something about Liam being curious about my demeanor around the Germans, and Wilson explained how I had helped persuade Klink to take him in. I'm not sure on the details, though."

"Your demeanor around the Germans? As in, how you act around them?"

"I suppose that's what he meant. See, my men and I try to act friendly and comfortable around the guards in order to keep them friendly and civil to us. It's really nothing, though, and it also helps us keep them all off balance enough that we can get away with pretty much anything."

Kier's eyes suddenly registered a shocked revelation. "Well, geeze, Colonel, no wonder Liam didn't trust you!"

"Excuse me?" He didn't particularly like the young lieutenant's tone of voice. "What exactly do you mean by that, Lieutenant?"

"Sorry sir, but I would have thought it was obvious. This place isn't at all what my twin would have expected from a prison camp. Tell me, as a spy, what would you think if you landed in an enemy country, were captured and interrogated, then you were sent to a prison camp where your injuries were taken care of, you were treated well by the Germans, and the prisoners seemed friendly and comfortable around the guards? Remember, of course, that you can only see what's going on; you cannot hear it. The prisoners try to befriend you, ask you a lot of questions about yourself that you don't answer because you're not sure you can trust them, and then as soon as you are recovering, you are suddenly turned over to the Gestapo with no warning and no explanation. Tell me, Colonel, if you were in my brother's place, would you have trusted anyone?" 

He had never even thought of it that way. "Well… no, most certainly not. I would have seen the POWs as possible collaborators with the Germans, and I would have kept my mouth shut. I can't believe I didn't see that possibility before." He paused, thinking again for a minute. "Of course, I also thought he was just a pilot, and a pilot would have an entirely different perspective on the situation than a spy would."

"Got it in one there, sir." Kier sat back against the bedpost and sighed. "It seems like this whole thing's become a lot more complicated than I ever expected it to be. Which is funny, because we're currently in a position where it should have been easier."

Hogan's heart went out to the young man who had risked so much for his brother. "We will get both of you out of here, Lieutenant. I promise you that." Then, he paused as something occurred to him. "What am I supposed to call you, Lieutenant? I can't very well have two Kincaids running around here and expect to tell them apart, and unless you want to be addressed by your rank all the time…?"

Kier smiled. "You could just call me Kieran, sir, if you don't mind addressing me by my given name. Liam and I always ran into this problem with our squadron commanders, because we refused to be posted in separate squads, so they just called us Lieutenant Kieran and Lieutenant Kincaid. It's the best way we've found to tell us apart."

"Are there any other ways? Well… besides the fact that your brother has a cast on his arm and a nasty scar across his forehead?"

At that, Kier let a mischievous grin brighten his face. "There are always ways, Colonel, but you'll just have to figure them out for yourself. Sort of a test of perception, if you will." 

"And if I fail, I have permission to mix you up as often as I choose, right?" Hogan replied with a mischievous grin of his own and the two men laughed together for a moment, cares forgotten. It was fleeting, however, and Kier sobered after a final halfhearted grin and asked in a pleading voice, "When can I see my brother, Colonel?"

"I'll arrange to sneak you in there tomorrow night after roll-call. We've got a tunnel that leads to the cooler, so it shouldn't be too hard to sneak you in when Schultz's back is turned. He's our sergeant of the guard, and he has a heart of gold and eyes that 'see nooothing!'" Kier laughed at Hogan's imitation of the German sergeant's voice. "It should be pretty easy to distract him, and he'll never even know you were there."

Kier's entire body seemed to relax, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you a thousand times over, Colonel Hogan. You don't know what this will mean to me. Or to Liam, for that matter."

"I wouldn't ask anything less if it were one of my brothers, Kieran; of course I understand." Then, he stood up. "You look exhausted, Lieutenant. Feel free to make yourself at home in here; we weren't expecting your arrival or we would have set a bed up for you in the tunnel. Until then, you can have the bottom bunk in here; I don't mind sharing for a night."

"I want to apologize again for inconveniencing you and your men with my change in plans, sir. I just couldn't wait; there were circumstances that I can't really explain yet, but I had to find my brother right away, and I am very sorry if I put your operation in any danger."

Hogan had almost forgotten his anger at the spy's surprise arrival. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I can understand where this mission would require some urgency, and since we seem to have found your brother sooner than expected, it doesn't really jeopardize anything. Now, I had better go and explain all this to my men. I kinda left them hanging, and they're probably a bit confused. Sleep well, Lieutenant, and I'll see you in the morning."

* * * * *

To say that his men were confused would have been an understatement, and Hogan was sorry to have left them in the dark for so long, but he soon sorted everything out.

"So you say we've been worryin' this whole time about finding this spy, and it turns out to be Kincaid? Why didn't 'e just bloody tell us?!" 

"Because it's supposed to be a secret, Newkirk. No one knows he's the Falcon. Besides, he doesn't know us from Adam; how's he supposed to know that we're actually a sabotage and espionage team and not just a bunch of normal POWs? I never got a chance to tell him about our operation because I was going to wait until he moved into the barracks. Also, if he had told us, and we had been just normal POWs, it wouldn't have meant anything to us. Only a few select people even know that the Falcons exist."

"So what are we going to do now, Colonel?"

"That's where I'm at a bit of a loss. It would be easy enough to get him out of the Gestapo's interest, but he's still a registered POW here at Stalag 13, and so he can't just escape unless he's transferred elsewhere. I'm beginning to be glad the Falcon dropped in early. Gives us more time to plan before Hochstetter gets back. In the meantime, I promised Lieutenant Kieran he could see his twin tomorrow night after Schultz goes 'off duty'." The men all grinned at that, knowing Schultz was just too predictable.

"Lieutenant Kieran?"

"That's what he wants us to call him, so that we can distinguish between the two of them. I'm sure that as we get to know them better, it will be easier to tell them apart, but I should warn you right now that they both seem to go to great lengths to be indistinguishable from one another. They look alike, talk alike, and act alike, all as part of their training, I suppose." Hogan shook his head, amazed at the opportunities being able to pose as a single person would open up in this business. "I wish we had them on our team. With their talents and ability to be the same person, who knows what kind of stunts we could pull off!"

"Oui, mon colonél. It's a shame they are needed elsewhere, though I am glad their talents are going to help the liberation of France. Maybe they can share some of their secrets before they leave, eh?"

"Oh I plan on milking them for all they're worth, LeBeau. How often do we get a chance to get espionage advice from two of the Secret Service's top agents? This is not an opportunity I'm going to pass up."

* * * * *

Kier spent the day in Colonel Hogan's quarters, sleeping or thinking about his brother. What had happened to Liam that would have injured him so badly and caused him to be dropped into the arms of the German Underground without knowing it?

Kier thought back to the day he first suspected that Li was in trouble. Three days after they had parted ways at the safehouse in Paris, the day after Liam's mission, Kier had been on an early morning patrol with the SS unit the Falcons had infiltrated six months ago. All of a sudden, without warning, his right leg simply buckled under him. He collapsed to the ground, and as his fellow soldiers helped him up, he was struck with an intense headache that made the world spin around him. He made his way to the hospital, but the doctors could find nothing wrong with him, even though he couldn't put any weight on his right leg. There had been several other instances in his life in which injuries like this had happened, and it made him fear for his twin's safety.

The real proof came four days later, early one evening as he was eating in his quarters. He had been unable to make it back to the safehouse for his brother's return two days before, but he was planning on leaving early in the morning on the pretense of going to the doctor in order to meet back up with Liam. The last thing he remembered was hearing someone knock on the door. He woke up the next morning back in the hospital with excruciating pain in his chest and right shoulder, as well as a rather fuzzy feeling to his hearing, as if his ears had been stuffed with cotton. One of his fellow soldiers said that he had entered the room to find him unconscious on the floor, but once again, despite the pain, the doctors could find nothing wrong with him. He knew then that something horrible had happened to his twin. 

He deserted the next day, and headed to the safehouse where he found that Liam hadn't ever come back. He immediately called London and told them in no uncertain terms that his mission in France was over and that as soon as he got back to London, he would be making preparations to go into Germany to look for his missing brother. Funny thing was, they didn't even know that Liam was missing. Kier could only assume that Colonel Kincaid hadn't wanted to admit to anyone that he'd 'lost' one of the Allies best spies, his own son, to the Germans as a result of some inconsequential bombing run. But it made Kier's job that much harder, because no one knew exactly which raid he'd been on, or where he'd been shot down. So the best they could offer him was to put him in touch with the German Underground through an operative known as Papa Bear. Kier did the research, found out about Papa Bear's operation, and figured it was the best chance he had, so he took it.

And now, here he was. And Li was sitting just across the compound, less than 500 metres from this very room, cold and frightened in a solitary confinement cell with no idea of what was really going on around him. He didn't even know that Kier was here to rescue him! Well, he'd find out soon enough, and then Hogan would help them work out an escape plan so they could head back to England for their next assignment. France was, obviously, a closed operation now, as a result of Kier's sudden 'desertion' from the German SS. The Secret Service most certainly wasn't going to risk compromising the information they had by sending the Falcons, or anyone else for that matter, back to France. The twins would have to find somewhere else to ply their trade once they returned home.

Not for the first time, Kier found himself marveling at the extent of Papa Bear's operation here. Now that was something he wouldn't mind being a part of! To run an undercover operation out of a German POW camp was as audacious as planting two spies within the German SS posing as the same man. And just as dangerous, both to the men involved and to the integrity of the information they gathered. If either mission were ever discovered… But they seemed pretty safe from that happening. Kier remembered all the times during their interviews with escaped POWs that he and Liam had wondered what it was that kept all the prisoners here at Stalag 13 when there was such an extensive underground operation in t hat area. Although he still wasn't clear on all the details, he was pretty sure now that it was Hogan's way of keeping all the prisoners above suspicion. Or maybe all the prisoners were involved in the operation and had pledged not to escape. Whatever the case, it seemed to be working, and Kier was impressed.

* * * * *

Hogan came back into his quarters around seven that evening to find their new guest sound asleep, and in the throes of a nightmare. He was tossing violently and muttering unintelligibly, and when Hogan reached down to shake him awake, he bolted upright and gasped out, "Liam!"

"You alright, Lieutenant? That must have been some nightmare!"

Kier didn't even seem to hear him. He glanced around wildly, trying to get his bearings, and when he finally recognized the colonel, he grabbed for his arm with panic in his eyes. "Is it my brother? Is my brother all right? I have to see him, now!"

That was rather unexpected. "Calm down for just a second, Kieran. Your brother's still in solitary, remember? But I'm sure he's doing fine. It was just a nightmare."

Kier had started to calm down, but he shook his head vehemently at that last statement. "That wasn't just any nightmare, sir. When can I see my twin?"

Not for a couple of hours yet," Hogan said, but seeing the desperate look on Kier's face, he had to explain. "It's for your safety, Lieutenant. I don't want to run the risk of you being seen, not even by Schultz. He checks in on your brother at lights out, around nine, and then doesn't again until after morning roll call. If we distract him right and get you in there, you'll have the entire night to spend with Liam, but you'll have to be patient until then." He clapped him on the shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Everything's going to work out, Kieran. Now, you want some dinner? We don't have much, but LeBeau is an excellent chef."

Kier stood up and followed Hogan out into the main barracks. He had just passed the doorway when he suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching his head. Newkirk, who'd been leaning on the bunk just outside of Hogan's quarters, reached out to catch him, and with Hogan's help led him to the table where he sat down heavily, head in his hands.

"What happened, Kieran? What's the matter?" all the men started asking, their voices raised in confusion and concern.

Kier shook his head slowly, trying to think past the pain. "I'll be fine in a moment, but my brother isn't. He's – God, Li, stop panicking! – he suffers from claustrophobia in confined spaces, and when he woke up just now from a severe nightmare, he became disoriented and is now in the middle of a panic attack. They have a tendency to give me headaches."

OK… that was weirder than Kieran knowing Liam's injuries to the letter before seeing him. "How could you possibly know all that, Lieutenant?" Carter was the first to voice everyone's confused curiosity.

Kier shook back another wave of pain and attempted to explain. "It's complicated, but the headaches are pretty good indicators, and I've been getting them on a regular basis for the past few days. Whatever they've been doing to my brother, it's got him scared out of his mind, hence the panic attacks. That's part of the reason I decided to drop in early; that, and the nightmares."

"'Ow do headaches and nightmares tell you wot's wrong with your brother?" Newkirk sounded puzzled.

"Because they're not my nightmares, they're his. He was deep into one of the worst I've had when Colonel Hogan startled me awake. He was pulled out of a deep sleep, and the combination of the dream, the memories, and the disorientation brought on a panic attack. Considering his claustrophobia and the solitary confinement, that doesn't surprise me."

The men just stared at him. "Most of that didn't make a bit of sense," Hogan finally said. "Would you mind repeating all of that in just one tense, Kieran?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, I guess that didn't make one bit a sense, did it?" Kier took a drink from the cup of coffee that LeBeau had set in front of him, rubbed his temples to clear some of the pain, and tried to explain again. "As identical twins, Liam and I have some interesting, unexplainable quirks. We can feel each other's physical pain, which is how I knew what some of his injuries were before I got here. We occasionally share each other's dreams and, which is far more common, each other's nightmares. The ones he's been having the past few days have been extremely intense; so intense, in fact, that they've had a bit of a physical connection as well. When the colonel woke me up, he in effect woke Liam up as well. Li was just as disoriented as I was, but I had people to tell me where I was and bring me back to reality, and it also wasn't my nightmare. Liam reacted as anyone would after being awakened from a deep sleep, but after being immersed in his fear and waking up to find it reality, he panicked. As he has been almost any time he's woken up for the past three days." He turned to Colonel Hogan, who could see the lines of pain and worry that crossed the younger man's face. "Now you see why it is imperative that I see him as soon as possible?"

"And you will, I promise," Hogan was quick to reassure him. "Now, you should definitely have something to eat. You look like some food would do you good." As the rest of the men sat down with Kieran and served up dinner, though, Hogan stood back and just stared at the spy. They could practically read each other's minds? Feel each other's pain? That was definitely one of the strangest things he'd ever heard.

* * * * *

Around nine-thirty that night, three figures emerged from one of the dark cooler cells, taking care to keep to the shadows. Kier watched in silence as Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Wilson went up to the immense guard at the door to one of the cells, He guessed that must be Sergeant Schultz. The man looked like a beardless version of Father Christmas, not at all like a Nazi soldier, except for the uniform.

It had actually been Schultz who had given the men a chance to get into the cooler. He had come to the barracks just before lights out and asked Hogan to get the doctor, that the boy had seemed very ill. The colonel had headed to Wilson's barracks as soon as Schultz had left, and they had met Kier down in the tunnels. Now, Hogan was in the process of distracting Schultz while Wilson held the door open so Kier could slip into the cell unnoticed.

Finally, Wilson gave him the signal. Schultz's back was turned, the door was open, so Kier quietly crept inside. Wilson closed the door behind him and he crouched down in front of it, hardly daring to breathe as he heard Wilson explaining to Schultz that Kincaid was fine, that he was sleeping now and shouldn't be disturbed for the rest of the night. As Kier listened to their voices receding down the hallway, another voice behind him caused him to jump. 

"'Oo's there?" The familiar voice sounded weak and tremulous, like a child afraid of creatures lurking in the dark. Kier turned around slowly, at once elated and frightened of what he might see.

The moonlight and the sweep of the searchlights dimly lit the dark room through a tiny barred window. Liam was huddled in one corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. Kier could see the cast on his right leg, and he glimpsed part of the one covering his right arm through a tear in his shirt. His face was covered with bruises, and his eyes were filled with terror. Kier was horrified. He hadn't seen that look in his brother's eyes since… A stab of pain shot through his skull, and in the next instant he was by Liam's side. "Li? Oh God, Li! Don't panic, please? It's me, Kier. I'm here, twin, I'm here. See? Nothing to worry about now. I'm here. I came to find you. Everything's going to be just fine now."

He reached out to pull his brother into his arms, but Li shied away, his eyes wild as he muttered, "No, no. It's all another Nazi trick. How did they know? I never told them anything! I never will tell them anything! Rather die! Ra-ther… die…" He broke down, sobbing in terror.

Oh God, not again. What had the Gestapo done to him, those bastards? Of course, considering what had happened the last time, maybe they hadn't done all this. Maybe it was all a result of Liam's terror. Kier knew he had to bring Liam back to reality, and there was only one sure way to do it.

_"Leth-aon,"_ he said softly, sitting down across from him and taking his left hand. Liam whimpered and tried to pull away, but Kier held on tight and started to rub circles on the back of Li's hand with his thumb, all the time saying softly, in a sing-song voice, _"Leth-aon, bráthair, mise an so. Mise an so. Kieran an so. Síocháin leth-aon, síocháin. Sibh an slán, Liam, mise an so._ (Translation: Twin, brother, I'm here. I'm here. Kieran is here. Peace, twin, peace. You're safe, Liam, I'm here.)" He kept repeating those words over and over as his brother slowly stopped fighting him. _"Síocháin leth-aon, síocháin._ There's no one here to hurt you now."

As he talked, Kier slowly moved around to sit next to Liam. Then, he eased his right arm behind Liam's neck and pulled his twin's head down onto his shoulder. As he ran his fingers gently over Liam's hair, he felt his brother's racing heartbeat slow. His breathing became more regular, and gradually his eyes focused again. He listened for a moment to what the figure next to him was saying, then asked in a hoarse whisper, "Kier? Is that you?"

Kier almost cried as he looked down into his twin's eyes and saw awestruck recognition. "Yes, _leth-aon_, it is," he said as he pulled Liam into a fierce hug.

"Is this a dream?" Li's voice was timid, as if he was afraid to believe it was real.

"No, it's no dream, Li. It's real. I promised you we'd never be separated like this again, so I came to find you. Everything's going to be alright now."

Liam pulled away. "But how? How did you find me? Are you a prisoner too?" Fear was creeping back into his voice, so Kier put a finger to his lips. He looked straight into his twin's eyes and allayed all his fears.

"I'm here because I came looking for you. And as for how I found you… You'll never believe where you ended up, twin."

"But I know where I am. Stalag 13. Toughest POW Camp in Germany. Why?"

"This isn't just Stalag 13, twin. It's… Papa Bear's den." He almost laughed out loud as Liam's mouth dropped open.

"Wha… huh? How…? But… but…" he stammered, at a loss for words. Then, regaining his composure, he sat and thought about what his brother had just said. "That explains so many things," he said, as if he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed sooner. "I thought there was something odd going on around here. Everyone was too friendly, too easy-going. I got treated well, until the Gestapo arrived, and then Colonel Hogan kept showing up in here at the oddest times… Is it Colonel Hogan?"

"Aye, and there are four other men that help him run the show, but it seems that every man in camp is part of the operation in one way or another. Hence the perfect no-escape record. It's the most amazing thing I ever saw, Li."

"I bet…" Liam murmured distractedly, still trying to take everything in. "Did the colonel know? About me?"

At this, Kier smiled ironically. "Believe it or not, it's been his mission since the day you got here to locate the Falcon and send him home. But he never guessed that it was a 20-year-old RAF lieutenant named Kincaid who was sitting right under his nose. You're too evasive for your own good, Li. They never had a clue." He sat back, taking in his brother's multiple injuries, and his features sobered. "My God, Li, what did those bastards do to you?"

Li looked down, curling and uncurling the fingers of his right hand. "Oddly enough, most of these were accidental, to some extent. The only thing the Germans gave me were these bruises on my face. By the time the Gestapo got ahold of me, I was too injured for them to risk doing anything worse." He then proceeded to explain, in detail, everything that had happened since he'd been shot down. He told Kier about his capture, the general's interrogation, his transfer to Stalag 7, the bombing and the explosion of the truck, his injuries and arrival at Stalag 13, his recovery, his mistrust of the prisoners, and all the odd details that just hadn't seemed to fit.

Then, he got to the part where the Gestapo stormed in and dragged him away for questioning and he stopped, unable to tell his brother any more. "I was so frightened, Kier. I kept thinking that it was going to be the same as before, and how everything I knew now was so much more important. Then, they locked me in here in the dark, and every time I closed my eyes, I felt like the walls were closing in on me. The memories all came back: I could feel the chains again, and I heard Major Krieger's voice, and I could see the knife he…" his voice trailed off; he was shaking like a leaf. 

Kier couldn't bear to see his twin like this. Out of everything they'd been through together in their lives, Liam's chance encounter with the Gestapo two years ago while on their first mission to Berlin was the one thing Kier couldn't share to ease the pain and terror he knew his brother was feeling right now. Liam had never talked about those three months; the only information Kier had on what had happened to him were the vivid nightmares and the physical scars that he did his best to hide. The emotional ones ran deep, though, and all Kier could do to calm his terror was hold him, as he'd done so many times before. So he did, wrapping his arms tight around Liam's shaking body and whispering in his ear, "It's alright, _leth-aon_, I won't let them do anything like that to you ever again. That's why I'm here. I know what you've been going through; I've had the nightmares, I've felt your fear. But there's nothing to be afraid of now. I'm here, and I'm going to take you home."

"Really?" Liam was startled by this. "But what about France? The mission?"

"The mission's over. SS Captain Heinrich Freiberg has officially been declared AWOL, a deserter, and no one suspects that he might have handed over valuable information to the Allies about the German defense of France. Allied High Command was quick to reassure me that pulling out early didn't jeopardize the mission in the slightest. The information is being evaluated as we speak in preparation for an all-out offensive sometime within the next year."

And Kier proceeded to tell Liam all about his 'desertion' from the German army and his search for his missing twin. The two brothers talked long into the night until they were both too exhausted to say anything more.

* * * * *

Hogan and LeBeau both peered around the corner of the open cell door into the hallway. Good! Just as they had expected, Schultz had left for roll call. That gave them about fifteen minutes to get Kier out and get back to the barracks before it was their turn. Hogan went and got the keys from underneath the chair where Schultz had so conveniently 'dropped' them last night while he was escorting Hogan and Wilson back to their barracks. "You know, he really shouldn't leave these just lying around like that," Hogan whispered conspiratorially to LeBeau, who was following him with breakfast for Kincaid, and they both laughed.

The pale glow of pre-dawn barely lit the tiny solitary cell, but it was just enough for the two men to see how the reunited brothers had spent the night, and what they saw caused them both to smile.

The twins were both sound asleep, evidence of a rather exhausting night. At first glance, it was impossible to tell them apart, but the cast and the bruises soon gave away their separate identities. Kieran was leaning up against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed. His right hand was resting on his brother's head, his fingers tangled in Liam's black curls. Liam was lying down on his left side, his head resting in Kier's lap, and his face held a calm, peaceful expression that Hogan hadn't seen since this whole fiasco started.

"You'd never guess these two are the British Secret Service's top spies," Hogan whispered. "They look so young and innocent."

"Oui, and so peaceful," LeBeau agreed. "It seems a shame to wake them, mon colonél."

"Yeah, I know, but we'll have much bigger problems on our hands if we don't." He knelt down next to them and gently shook Kier awake. "Hey there, Kieran. It's time to go. Don't want the Krauts seeing double just yet."

Kier opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched. "Mmm… aah… huh? Oh, good morning ta ye, Colonel, Corporal. Is it time to go already?" Hogan nodded, so he turned to Liam, still sound asleep in his lap, and woke him gently. "Hey, Li, it's time to wake up, twin. I gotta go before the Krauts find me here."

Liam shifted slightly and turned to look into his brother's face. "Do ya hafta?" he asked sleepily, sounding like a petulant child.

"Yes, I hafta, _leth-aon_, "Kier said with a smile as he ruffled his twin's hair. "Now let me help you up so you can get into bed. You can get some more sleep then, and it's probably more comfortable than the floor."

"No, it's not," Liam said truthfully, but he allowed himself to be helped off the floor and led to the bed, where he immediately lay down again. As LeBeau set the food down next to him for later, he turned to his twin and pleaded, "Kier, don't go. I don't want this to be just a dream."

Kier smiled sadly at this and sat down on the bed. "It's no dream, Li. This is real. And here's proof." He reached under his shirt and pulled something from around his neck, which he pressed into Liam's hand. "If this is still here when you wake up again, you'll know that I was really here." Then, he bent down and gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, _leth-aon_. Everything will be brighter when you wake."

Once the men were back in the tunnels, Hogan and LeBeau climbed back into Barracks 2 for roll call and Kier lay down on the small cot they'd set up for him. Staring at the dirt ceiling, he sighed, thinking about his brother and everything that had happened since they parted ways a mere three weeks ago. He pulled out the onyx-and-gold rosary that he'd snuck from the inside pocket of Liam's jacket after he'd given his twin his onyx-and-silver one. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he whispered to no one in particular, "It wasn't a dream, leth-aon, but I'm going to have just as hard a time convincing myself of that as you are."

He didn't have any concept of how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling and clutching Liam's rosary in his hand, but he was pulled from his revere by Kinch, who showed up in the tunnel on his way to the radio room. 

"Hey, kid, you alright?" 

Kier sat up slowly. "Aye. Just doing some thinking."

"Well, hey, if you're hungry, there's probably still some breakfast left up in the barracks, and the coast should be clear for now. I think the Colonel wants to talk to you again also."

"Thank you, Sergeant… Kinchloe, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but call me Kinch."

"Thanks, Kinch."

He climbed out of the tunnel a few minutes later and snagged a cup of coffee from the stove. Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter all sat down at the table with him and started asking him questions. Newkirk wanted to know how Liam was doing, Carter wanted to know what it was like to be a 'real' spy, and LeBeau wanted to know all about the Falcons' mission in France. Kier tried to answer as many questions as he could, and the four men were engaged in quite the riotous discussion when Hogan came into the barracks.

"Oh good, Lieutenant. I'm glad you decided to join us," he said when he noticed who the focus of the conversation was. "Would you step into my office, please? We have escape plans to discuss."

*****************************************************************************************************


	7. Plans, Impersonations, and Discoveries

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 7: Plans, Impersonations, and Discoveries 

"So what's the plan, Colonel? I've heard you're quite the mastermind when it comes to harebrained schemes." Kier said with a mischievous grin as he followed Hogan into his office.

"Thank you… I think," Hogan replied, then he motioned to the bed. "Have a seat, Lieutenant. There are a few things I need to discuss with you concerning your brother's escape."

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Hogan waited until Kier was seated, then he started pacing the floor as he talked. "I just got word from Klink that Hochstetter will be returning here the day after tomorrow. I also had a long discussion with Sergeant Wilson about your brother's condition, and it doesn't look good."

"But sir, I spent the entire night with him and he seemed well enough to me, considering the circumstances. If anyone were to notice anything wrong with him, I would be the first, believe me!" 

Hogan stopped and looked Kier straight in the eyes, seeing a hint of worry in the young man's face despite his assurances. "I think you have noticed, Kieran, and you just don't want to admit it. The young man I visited in the cooler this morning is very ill, as well as being injured and emotionally exhausted. His condition has gotten worse since he was first put into the cooler, that much is obvious, and if it's obvious to me, then it's obvious to you. So don't you dare sit there and try to tell me that there's nothing wrong!"

Kier let out a long sigh and looked down at the floor. "You're right, Colonel. It's just that… I need to get him away from here as soon as possible. I fear more for his safety if he stays than if he goes, current condition aside."

"Unfortunately, Wilson and I both disagree with you, Kieran. Your brother is too ill to be traveling anywhere soon, and I will not risk his life by allowing him to leave here until he is fully recovered."

Kier looked up, determination written all across his face. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's not your decision to make."

Hogan's eyes widened, and his voice was cold as he replied, "Begging YOUR pardon, Lieutenant, but I believe it is. Your brother was captured as a prisoner of war, and he has been placed in this camp under my command. Therefore, I have final say over you, over London, even over the Secret Service. And I am not going to back down on this. He'll escape when I say so, and not before."

Kier was glaring at him in defiance. "And if we decide to countermand that order, Sir?"

Hogan was ready to lose his temper, so shocked was he at Kier's insolence. Then, he paused for a moment as he realized what must be going through Kieran's head. He took a deep breath, sat down on the bed, and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder. The young man was literally shaking with anger. "Kieran, listen to me," he said softly, his voice much calmer. "I'm only doing this for Liam's safety. You know as well as I do that he's in bad shape. Sergeant Wilson believes that the cuts on his upper right arm are infected. Dr. Freiling had said it was a possibility, but they hadn't shown any signs of infection while he was under the doctor's care. Since he's been in the cooler, though, an infection seems to have flared up. It's easy enough to take care of with some penicillin, but in order to do that, the doctor would have to come back and take the cast off his arm, which means…"

"That he wouldn't be able to go anywhere until his shoulder's completely healed." Kier finished Hogan's train of thought, reluctant acceptance in his voice. "But what about the Gestapo, sir? If you don't get rid of them, nothing the doctor can do will help."

"Well, of course, getting rid of the Gestapo is our first priority. We have to get Liam out of the cooler and into a doctor's care in order to get him well."

"So how are we going to do it, Colonel?" Kieran's voice was enthusiastic once again. Then, he looked the senior officer in the eyes, remembered the conversation from a few moments ago, and dropped his head. "I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you before, sir," he said softly, his voice contrite. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Hogan replied, a little more sharply than he intended, but when Kier nodded his head slowly, he relented. "I'm worried about him to, Kier. That's why he has to stay, at least for a month or so. Then, he'll be well enough to be transferred, and we'll send him home."

"Don't you mean 'us,' Colonel?" 

Hogan looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean, 'us'? You're planning on staying too?"

"Of course I'm staying. Considering prior experience, horrible things always seem to happen when my twin and I split up. I will not make that mistake again. Besides, you wouldn't pass up an extra experienced pair of hands that easily, would you, Colonel?"

Hogan certainly had to agree with Kieran on that one. He would welcome any assistance the Falcons could give him while they were here. "So now the only problem is getting your brother away from the Gestapo and out of the cooler, and soon. I don't want his condition to get any worse, if I can help it, but in order for Klink to release him, Hochstetter has to be done interrogation him, and in order for that to happen, Hochstetter has to return, and that won't be for another two days. And a lot can happen in two days. If only there was some way tog et Dr. Freiling to him without Klink knowing about it…" He trailed off, at a loss.

All of a sudden, Kier's eyes lit up with a flash of inspiration. "How soon could you get the doctor into camp through the tunnels, Colonel? So that he's here, but the other Krauts don't know it?"

"I'd say by tomorrow afternoon, depending on his clinic schedule. Why?"

"Because I've got the perfect plan…"

* * * * *

Two days later, Hogan was supervising another overhaul of Klink's staff car when Hochstetter drove up and stormed into Klink's office. "Right on time," Hogan said, looking at his watch. "Finish up here, men. I'll be in my office."

He met up with Kinch in the barracks and they plugged in the coffee pot just in time.

"Klink! Where is my prisoner?"

"Your prisoner, Major? What prisoner?" There was a pause, and Hogan could just imagine Hochstetter's face turning purple with rage before Klink hastily realized, "Oh! That prisoner! He's still in the cooler, Major, exactly where you left him. Where else would he be?"

"And you are absolutely positive that he is still there? He has not been accidentally 'transferred' or anything? And no one has been to see him, correct?"

"Yes, Major Hochstetter, I am absolutely sure. I had a guard posted, and no one has been to see him… well… no one except for Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Wilson, the prisoner's medic."

"I bet Hochstetter won't appreciate that," Hogan snickered in the ensuing silence. Just then, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter burst in the door. "What'd we miss?" they asked in unison, sounding a little too eager.

"Just Klink sticking his foot in his mouth as usual," Hogan replied before loud shouting from the coffee pot interrupted him. Hochstetter was starting in on a long tirade about exactly what being in "solitary" confinement meant, and how Klink had better become better acquainted with the term, unless, of course, he would rather become well acquainted with the Russian Front. Klink apologized profusely, insisting that it would not happen again. Hochstetter then demanded to see the prisoner, in order to "tie up loose ends."

"Well, that's my cue, men. Let's see if our spy is really as good as he claims to be." Hogan headed out the door and met up with Klink and Hochstetter as they crossed the compound.

"Colonel Klink, sir," he started in with his usual casual salute, "I have some complaints to make regarding the treatment of the prisoner Kincaid, and I was wondering if…"

"Not now, Hogan!" Klink cut him off. "Can't you see we're very busy? " Klink threw up his hands in exasperation and pushed past him.

"What is this man doing here?!" Hochstetter roared as he came face to face with the American colonel. "Klink! Don't your prisoners ever act like prisoners?"

"Well sir, we try, but it is a full-time job, you see, and we all need vacations once in a while," Hogan commented. Then, as if finally noticing that it was Hochstetter he was talking to, he turned back to Klink and asked, "Is he planning to question Lieutenant Kincaid again? Because I demand to be present this time, Kommandant! The Geneva Prisoner of War Convention clearly states…"

"Hogan! This is the Gestapo you are talking about. You do not make demands of the Gestapo!" Klink's face was panicked as he turned to apologize to Major Hochstetter. Hochstetter was staring at the senior POW with an unreadable expression on his face; he suddenly held up a hand to silence Klink's babbling.

"Shut up, Klink! … I believe I can grant you that request, Colonel Hogan. Maybe what you see will give you incentive to cooperate with the Gestapo in the future, ya?"

"Sure, Major, whatever you say," Hogan replied with a wave towards the cooler. "After you, gentlemen."

When the three men reached the cell, Hochstetter turned to Hogan with an evil glint in his eye and warned him, "If you interfere, Colonel, I may decide to interrogate you instead, and I would not have to make any concessions for your physical condition."

Hogan just glared at him until Hochstetter turned away with a snort and motioned for Schultz to open the cell door.

Kincaid was lying on the bed, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. The bruises on his face were slowly fading, but they still stood out on his unnaturally pale complexion. When he heard the door open, he glanced up, startled, and slowly and awkwardly pushed himself into a sitting position with his good left arm. He carefully swung his legs off the bed, trying not to jostle the right one, which was still in a cast. He stared impassively at the three men entering the room.

"G'day to ye, Major, Kommandant, Colonel. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Hochstetter stalked over and glared down at him, using every ounce of intimidation he could muster, which was considerable. Much to everyone's surprise, Kincaid didn't so much as blink. "Don't play stupid with me, Lieutenant. You know exactly what I'm here for. I want answers!"

"Answers to what, Major? That crack on the 'ead you gave me dinna do so much for me memory, if ya know what ah mean."

Hochstetter casually backhanded Kincaid across the face, causing Hogan to wince. "Is that enough of a reminder for you, Lieutenant?" he asked as Kincaid turned back, glaring daggers at him. "Now, will you talk?"

"Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, serial number 9274741," Kincaid spat out defiantly, and he didn't flinch as Hochstetter backhanded him across the face again.

"I believe we've been through this already, Lieutenant," Hochstetter said, his voice eerily calm. "I want to know what your mission over Germany really was."

"Exactly wot makes ye think there was anythin' special about mah mission, Major?" Kincaid said darkly as he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose.

"The information you gave General Kreiss was enough to make us suspicious. No one gives out that much obviously misleading information unless he has something to hide. So what was your mission, Lieutenant?"

"Just bombing the 'ell out of your godforsaken country, sir!" Kincaid replied in true military fashion, a sly grin lurking just behind his eyes as he saluted Major Hochstetter. Hogan almost laughed, but the moment was completely lost as Hochstetter hit him again, reflexively, his face dark with rage.

Hochstetter had pulled his arm back to give his prisoner another good one when he stopped and stared at him, puzzled. "I notice a marked change in your attitude, Lieutenant. Why is that?"

Kincaid sat back slowly, his wary glance on Hochstetter's clenched fist. He glanced up briefly at the three men, ignoring the worried look in Hogan's eyes as he replied, "Maybe I decided you don't scare me, Major Hochstetter. I've got nothin' ta hide; the only reason I tol' that general as much as ah did was so he wouldn'a have any reason tae deny me food an' medical attention. I tol' him nothin' he dinna already know, and the fact that he brought the Gestapo in makes me laugh. I truly wonder wot your superiors will think, Major, when they fin' out ye 'ave been wastin' yer time interrogatin' a simple fighter pilot, and a lieutenant at that. Surely there are greater dangers to your 'glorious' Third Reich than one POW in the 'toughest prison camp in Germany,' sir."

Hogan was shocked at Kincaid's sudden brazen attitude, and at the risk he was taking by saying all that to Major Hochstetter. He only hoped that the kid wasn't going to suffer for it. It was definitely entertaining to see someone stand up to Major Hochstetter, though.

Hochstetter, unfortunately, didn't seem to think so. His face was turning redder by the second, and he looked about to explode with anger. Hogan half expected to see smoke come out of his ears at any moment. He reached out and grabbed Kincaid by the collar, causing both the young prisoner and his CO to wince. "I suggest, Lieutenant," he growled, pulling Kincaid's face close to his own, "that you remember you are talking to the Gestapo. I would watch what I say if I were you!"

"Ah'm only… tellin'… the truth," Kincaid gasped out, defiant even through the pain he must be in. Hochstetter released him, shoving him back against the wall as he struggled to breathe again. "There's nothing more… ah can tell ye, Major."

Kincaid's admission of honesty finally seemed to get through to Hochstetter, because Hogan could see the indecision on his face. He glared at the lieutenant for a long moment, watching him catch his breath and obviously wishing that he could interrogate the insolent young man properly. Then, he turned on his heel with a resounding, "Bah!" Hogan and Klink beat a hasty retreat ahead of him as he stormed out of the cell and slammed the door. Then, he turned to the Kommandant and declared in a dangerous voice, "You will leave that man in solitary for at least one more day for insubordination, Klink! What you do with him after that is your business; however, I will be keeping an eye on him, and on you, Klink!"

"Surely you don't believe he will escape, Major? You do recall that there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13!" Klink never passed up an opportunity to toot his own horn, but Hochstetter couldn't have cared less. He simply stared hard at Hogan.

"Yes, and that fact still continues to mystify me," he said suspiciously. "But never mind! Just because there has never been an escape doesn't mean that there will never BE an escape! And if he does escape, Klink, heads will roll! Specifically yours! All the way to the Russian Front!" And with that, Hochstetter stormed out of the cooler, got into his car, and drove away in a cloud of dust and squealing tires. 

Klink and Hogan watched him go as they headed back across the compound, and as soon as his car was out of sight, the grimacing smile disappeared from Klink's face and he scowled darkly in the direction Hochstetter's car had gone. "That man is impossible!" he growled. "And I do not understand why he is always so unpleasant. A little civility never hurt anyone!" 

"I don't believe the Gestapo have ever heard of the words 'civil' or 'pleasant,' Kommandant," Hogan remarked. Klink looked at him in surprise, as if he had forgotten the Senior POW was there.

"Well, regardless of his manners, he is the Gestapo, and he does have a tendency to keep his word. I'm assigning Lieutenant Kincaid to your barracks, Colonel Hogan, and I will hold you personally responsible if anything happens to him."

Hogan resisted the urge to smile. "Certainly, Kommandant. I'll make sure that he stays put. Are you going to tell him that he's being released tomorrow, or should I?"

"I don't believe I'm going to tell him anything, Hogan, and neither are you. That pilot has brought me nothing but trouble since he arrived here; he brought this upon himself. One more day in the cooler isn't going to kill him."

"No sir, I suppose it won't," Hogan conceded, inwardly relieved that that was the case. "I'll let my men know to expect a new arrival tomorrow."

"You know, Hogan, someday your men will be grateful to have me as kommandant," Klink said as he turned to leave.

"Oh, believe me, sir, we already are," Hogan said sincerely as he flipped Klink a casual salute and headed back to the barracks, grinning all the way.

* * * * *

Hogan dropped down into the tunnel after giving all his men the good news, knowing that there was one person left to whom it would mean a whole lot more.

"Well, your brother actually pulled it off," he called out as he came upon the other Kincaid, who was lying on the cot in the tunnel. Dr. Freiling was there as well, slowly cutting sections of the cast off his upper arm. "I don't know how you two do it, Liam, but he sure fooled me. When I walked in there, I was almost afraid we'd forgotten to switch the two of you. I mean, I realize you look exactly alike, but the casts and the face paint were a brilliant touch."

Liam smiled through a painful grimace. "Just a few tricks o' the trade, sir. We've learned ta take advantage of our identical looks ta the fullest extent possible. Comes in handy in our line of work, ya see. And ah assume that Major Hochstetter and the Kommandant were sufficiently fooled as well?"

"Yes, and Major Hochstetter's gone for the time being. 'You' will be released from the cooler tomorrow, and will be bunking in Barracks 2, so I can 'keep an eye on you.'" At this, Hogan laughed, and Liam looked puzzled. "It seems Hochstetter had you pegged as a likely escapee, and Klink doesn't want to take any chances on his perfect record."

"That isn't goin' ta be a problem when it comes time for us to leave, is it, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head, still smiling. "Not at all. Chances are Hochstetter will find more pressing business to attend to in a week or so, and transfers are easy enough to get around here. As soon as the doc feels you're well enough, you and your brother can switch places again, and I'll get you out of here as soon as possible after that."

"Sounds… like a plan, Colonel," Liam was interrupted by a fit of coughing that caused him to double over in pain. His condition seemed to have gotten much worse over the past couple days, so Hogan sat down next to him, his face drawn with concern, as the doctor went to get some water and more bandages.

"You alright, Lieutenant?"

Liam nodded, and when he could finally talk again, he said softly, "I wanted ta apologize for nae trusting ye, Colonel Hogan. It was just that… ever'thin seemed so out of place 'ere, an' ah was afraid ye and yer men were all working for the Germans. I'm truly sorry for doubtin' ye, sir."

Hogan nodded understandingly. "There's nothing to apologize for, Liam. Your brother explained everything to me, and I am sorry that the situation here caused you to be so suspicious. I wouldn't worry too much about it. Everything's going to work out just fine in the end."

"Thank you, Colonel." Liam whispered sincerely as his eyes slowly drifted shut.

Hogan sat next to him until Freiling returned, shocked by how extremely ill he looked. He prayed that nothing would go wrong with the penicillin drop from London tonight, because the boy needed the medicine badly, and Dr. Freiling had none to spare. When the doctor came back, the two men discussed Kincaid's condition in hushed voices. Hogan explained about the drop, for which Freiling was extremely grateful, and the doctor promised to stay until the medication was administered and his patient was out of immediate danger. Then, he had one final request to make of the colonel.

"Colonel Hogan, there is something I wish to discuss with you concerning the young man's health. I feel that it would be in his best interests if I were to take him back to my clinic in Hammelburg or to one of the Underground's safehouses until his fever is gone and his arm is completely healed. I realize that this would involve some planning on your part, but it would be better for him to be in a warm, dry, sterile atmosphere, rather than down here in these damp, dirty tunnels."

Hogan agreed with the doctor's position; it would be far better for Liam's recovery if here were to be moved from Stalag 13. "But are you sure you want to take such a risk, Doctor? What if the Gestapo were to search your house and find him? How would you explain an enemy soldier's presence there?"

"He would not have to be an enemy soldier. It is only is uniform that makes him the enemy. With civilian clothes and some forged papers, he could easily be passed off as a civilian worked who was injured in a mine blast. I understand that he speaks fluent German as well, and since you have an exact copy of him here at Stalag 13, no one would think anything of it."

"That sounds reasonable enough. I'll begin making plans to move him out tomorrow night. That way, he can get the penicillin and see his brother before he leaves." He thanked the doctor one last time before heading back up the ladder to let his men in on the change in plans. "I don't know what we'd do without you, Doc. I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for us over this past year. You've been a lifesaver in more ways than one."

I'm only doing my best to repay the great favor you and your men are doing for my country by risking your lives every day, Colonel Hogan. Anything that can be done to end this war a little sooner."

"Amen to that, Doc. I'll be upstairs, so just knock if you need anything. And I'll send Wilson down to help you out after roll-call."

* * * * *

Liam became conscious long before he chose to open his eyes. He said a silent prayer of thanks for the sedatives that Dr. Freiling had insisted on before he was moved. From the feel of his surroundings, the warm air and the soft bedclothes, he assumed that his removal from Stalag 13 had been successful. Now, he was safe, and he might actually have the chance to fully recover from all his injuries before he went out and got hurt again. Kieran had always said he was and accident waiting to happen, and the events of the past month or so had proved that theory in the most unpleasant of ways.

The past three days had been such a blur that Liam hardly knew where to start sorting everything out. Kier's plan to switch places with him had been a stroke of brilliance. It was Kier's style, though; he was always the one who loved to take advantage of their absolutely identical appearances. In this instance, Liam was hardly one to protest his twin's impersonation. He had been worried about Kier getting hurt in his place, but he'd looked none the worse for wear except for a few bruises when he'd been released from the cooler yesterday afternoon.

Kier had been less than happy about Liam's relocation, but Liam had been quick to reassure him that it was all for the best and that he would be perfectly safe. He asked Kier what he should tell the doctor about his scars when the casts came off, and Kier assured him that doctor-patient confidentiality applied to all doctors, and that he should just tell Dr. Freiling the truth. After all, the doctor was a member of the Underground; he would probably understand better than most. Liam was glad for his brother's support, because he could tell from a lack of weight upon his chest that the cast around his arm was gone. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the light.

Dr. Freiling was sitting in a chair next to the bed, managing to look both relieved and concerned at the same time. "It's good to see you awake, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"

"A wee bit disoriented, sore, an' verra thirsty," Liam croaked out. The doctor reached for a glass of water and propped his head up so he could drink. "Thank ye, sir."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No sir, at least, not anything serious." The doctor, however, still looked worried, so Liam asked, "Is something the matter, doctor?" even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Your shoulder seems to be recovering nicely," the doctor said lightly as he pulled back the bedcovers. "The infected cuts should heal with exposure to air and the penicillin, but I had to take the cast off, so you will not be able to move your arm as much until the bone heals completely. I will put a sling on it, as well as do my best to see that you will not need to move it for some time." Then he paused, a look of indecision crossing his face. Taking a deep breath, he asked cautiously, "I was wondering where these other scars came from, Lieutenant? I did not see them before. The ones on your wrists I noticed when I brought you into the house, and then when I took the cast off…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes glanced down at the rather distinct burn scar across Liam's chest. "Who did this to you, son?"

Well, his asking had been inevitable. "Does Colonel Hogan know about…that?" he asked, glancing down to where the doctor was staring.

"No, he had left before I discovered it. You do not want him to know?"

"No sir, ah'd rather no one knew about it. That's why ah do my best to keep it covered at all times. It's not a pleasant scar to live with, you must see that."

"Of course," the doctor nodded. "But who did this to you?"

"The Gestapo. It was several years ago, though, so it has no bearing on mah present condition or situation."

"The Gestapo…" Freiling whispered, his voice full of anger as he stared into space. "And the scars on your wrists?"

"The result of wearing handcuffs and shackles for three months. It's not an experience I'd ever care ta repeat."

Dr. Freiling's eyes were shocked; he slumped down into the chair, his hands heavy on the bedcovers. "Three months? But… why? And you say this happened several years ago, but you are so young! How did all this happen to you?"

"How much did Colonel Hogan tell ye about mah brother an' me?" Liam asked cautiously. The entire incident couldn't really be explained without the knowledge that they were spies, and good ones.

"Well, he did mention that you were spies, in order to explain why your brother was at Stalag 13 and switching places with you, but he did not elaborate any further than that."

"That's enough, ah suppose. Yes, mah brother and I are spies, and professional ones at that. Our first mission, two years ago, was to make contact with the German Underground in Berlin and send back names of contacts to Allied Intelligence. We were posing as German students at the university there, and no one was to ever discover that we were actually two Irish lads from Dublin workin' for the other side. Unfortunately, we were not the only spies interested in the Underground. Mah brother and I were sold out to the Gestapo by one of their agents working undercover, but ah was the only one captured. Fortunately, the Gestapo never learned that ah was a British spy; they thought I was simply another 'misguided' German youth, so they tried to get information out of me for three months before letting me go as an 'example' to anyone who would try to undermine the glorious Third Reich." He glanced around and a small smile escaped him, despite the seriousness of the story he'd just told. "Little did they know that releasing me would just allow the Underground to grow stronger. The way ah see it, it is men like Major Hochstetter an' Major Krieger, the sadistic bastard that did *that* to me, that only strengthen the resolve of many of the German people to fight against their government rather than for it." Then, as if all his remaining energy had gone into that confession, he sank back down on the bed with a sigh and closed his eyes.

"Ja," Freiling said softly, unsure as to whether or not the young man was still awake. "It is our resolve to stop men such as those that keeps the Underground strong." Inwardly, he was still coming to terms with everything Liam had just told him. He reminded the doctor so much of his own son, Hans, who had been killed just over a year ago. Hans had been intense and passionate about everything he did, even as a young boy, and he had had a strong sense of justice that would not be denied. It had been almost a given that Hans would become involved with the Underground, and Freiling was certain that it had been those same traits of character that had driven the Kincaid twins to join their country's Secret Service.

But to go through such an ordeal, and at such a young age! From what Liam had told him, combined with what Colonel Hogan had mentioned about the twins' ages, Freiling deduced that he had been no older than eighteen when the Gestapo had captured him. At one time, he would have wondered what his country was coming to, torturing children for information. That time was past; he had seen exactly what his country was coming to, and that was why he was working so hard to help free his country from Hitler's reign of tyranny.

Liam suddenly opened his eyes again, breaking the doctor from his revere. "Could ye do me a favor, Doc?" he asked quietly.

"Certainly. What is it?"

"Could you cover that scar up for me? Maybe use bandages or somethin'? Mah brother an' I usually use plaster, which is why you didn't see it there before, but it seems to have come off wi' the cast, an' I really don't want anyone else knowing that I got a permanent swastika 'tattoo' like some fanatical Nazi."

"That's perfectly understandable, son. I have to bind up your shoulder anyway, so it shouldn't be too difficult to make it look like part of the sling. Now, I'm going to give you a sedative to help you sleep while I do so. Just relax, and let your body heal itself. It needs the rest now, even if you do not."

Liam nodded agreeably at this and didn't fight the sedative as his eyes drifted shut. Freiling banked the fire and gathered up bandages and medication as he prepared to finish putting a sling on the young pilot's arm. As he worked, he took one last careful examination of the scar on Liam's chest. From the precision and straightness of the lines and angles, a sharp instrument, such as a file or a knife, had been used; probably heated white-hot to achieve the brand-like precision of the burns. It could have been nothing if not extremely painful, and, knowing the Gestapo, it was probably drawn out to the most torturous extent possible. "You have seen much pain in your short life, my young friend," Freiling spoke softly to his sleeping patient as the angry red swastika disappeared under white bandages. "I believe that Germany will owe men like you much when this war is finally over."

*****************************************************************************************************


	8. May It Be

**Author's Notes:** The lyrics in this chapter are from the song "May It Be" by Enya, written for the movie _The Fellowship of the Ring_. I don't own them either.

*****************************************************************************************************

Chapter 8: May It Be 

"Ha! Twenty-one! Hand it over, mates!" Liam was cleaning up at cards again, much to the surprise and annoyance of all the more experienced players. Hogan, sitting in his office with the door open, smiled at the groans and angry mutters from the three other men as they turned their life savings over to the young cardsharp.

Liam had been back at Stalag 13 for almost two weeks now, and he seemed to have bounced back admirably from his numerous injuries. The switch back had gone off without a hitch as well, with Dr. Freiling even returning to remove Kieran's casts and giving him a 'clean bill of health' before the twins switched places once again. The switch, unfortunately, meant that Hogan would have to arrange for Liam's transfer and escape soon so that the Falcons could head for home and their next big assignment. He really did hate to see them go. Kieran had been a great help on quite a few missions in the past month and a half, and the two of them were an amazing spy team that had afforded Hogan's group several important sabotage opportunities that they would have been unable to pull off otherwise. Not to mention they were quite the pair of mischief -makers when they got together. They were always laughing and joking around, which helped to keep everyone's spirits up, especially during this time of the year when everyone's thoughts turned towards home and the holiday cheer their families would soon be celebrating without them. However, Kieran had had a long conversation with his commanding officer at MI-6 yesterday, so Hogan assumed that orders would be coming through soon to send the Kincaids on their way.

Liam finally decided to bow out graciously from the card game, leaving his new friends with some, but not much, money and dignity. A small part of him felt badly for making them all think he was new to gambling at card when in reality he was every man's most dreaded opponent in any pub in Dublin. Besides, it wasn't as if he was planning on keeping most of his winnings. He didn't smoke, so his winnings from tonight's high-stakes game were of absolutely no use to him. The men would simply have everything returned to them, and chances were that they wouldn't really even notice anyway. The card games were mainly a way to keep the more surreptitious side of his nature in practice.

He knew Kier had talked to MI-6 yesterday, and he was curious as to what the C in C had told his twin in regards to their next assignment. He went down into the tunnels to talk to him about it, but couldn't find him anywhere. A bit anxious, he went to talk to Colonel Hogan.

"Sorry ta bother ye, Colonel, but 'ave ye seen mah brother anywhere?"

"Yeah, he's on the roof. Went out there to think, he said."

"On th' roof? But tain't that just a wee but dangerous, sir?" Wasn't it just like Kier to take such a brazen risk as that!

Hogan just smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. The entire back side of this barracks is a blind spot to the guard towers. Just climb up through the window and pull yourself up there. As long as you don't make too much noise, the guards will never know you're there."

"Thanks, Colonel," Liam said as he pulled on his coat, for November was a bitter cold month in Germany, and hoisted himself through the window and onto the roof.

* * * * *

_May it be an evening star  
Shines down upon you  
May it be when darkness falls  
Your heart will be true  
You walk along a road  
Oh how far you are from home_

Liam found his twin just where Colonel Hogan said he'd be, lying on the roof just above the window, gazing up at the star-strewn sky. It was a cold, clear night, and each glittering spark looked close enough to touch.

"Mind if ah join ye, _leth-aon_?" Liam asked softly as Kier glanced down to see who had found him.

"Not at all," Kier smiled. "Ah was wonderin' how long it'd take ye ta find me up 'ere. Beautiful night, isn't it?" he said as he motioned to the stars.

"Aye, 'tis." Liam replied as he settled himself into a relatively stable and comfortable position next to Kier. Then, to broach the subject, he asked nonchalantly, "I understand ya talked ta Headquarters yesterday?"

"Aye, that I did."

"And…?" It wasn't like Kier to be so silent on any matter concerning their current profession. He took great pride in being a spy, and in the assignments they were given.

"Well, it gave me a lot to think about. I'm actually glad you decided ta come out 'ere." His voice had gotten very serious, and he turned and looked straight at Liam, a pensive look on his face. "Li, what would you say ta staying here?"

_Darkness has come  
Believe and you will find your way  
Darkness has fallen  
A promise lies within you now_

"Stay 'ere? You mean, as members of Papa Bear's unit? But why?"

"MI-6 doesn't have any new assignments lined up for us. They were pretty evasive as to the reason why, but ah think that they think we're losin' our touch. No mention of how well we've done, or all that we've accomplished, or how we pull off th' jobs that no one else could possibly do. It's all about the mistakes we've made; first in Berlin, and now in you endin' up in a German prison camp when we were supposed ta be undercover in Paris."

"But those were both totally unforeseen and out of our control. The can't expect us to…"

"But they can, an' they do! They don't see us as 20-year-old fighter pilots who just 'appen to have many talents conducive ta bein' undercover spies; they see us as spies first and spies alone, age and prior experience be damned!"

Liam didn't understand where this lack of trust had come from. "We've never compromised an objective, never revealed our true intentions while on a mission, never failed to do exactly what we were sent out to do. What else do they want from us?"

"I don't know. They said they'd get back to us," Kier snorted clearly disgusted by the whole situation.

"But what does that 'ave ta do with stayin' 'ere?" Liam wasn't quite seeing the connection.

"Over the past month or so, I've gotten the chance ta see the colonel's operation 'ere firsthand. I've seen how his team works together, the missions London asks him ta pull off, and the fantastically bizarre an' innovative ways he accomplishes them every single time. The opportunity to still be involved directly in the success of this war has been dropped right in our laps, Li! Colonel Hogan values our experience and the unique opportunities having identical twins on his team could present to 'im. We 'ave a chance ta still make a difference! Is that an opportunity you would pass up?"

_May it be the Shadow's call  
Will fly away  
May it be you journey on  
To light the day  
When the night is overcome  
You may rise to find the sun_

"Well, of course not, but that can't be everything, Kier. I know you better than that." Kier was the one who had always insisted on a solo act. He wanted the freedom to make his own decisions on what risks to take and how to pull off the tough assignments. "Whatever 'appened to 'Blood is thicker than water,' or the fact that outside help only complicates things? That's what you've always said before, just like da always used to tell us."

"I suppose you could say I've 'ad a bit of a revelation. Being here, workin' with the colonel an' his men… it's all so much different then ah expected." Kier rolled over on his side, propping his head up with one arm as he looked directly at his twin, his gaze uncharacteristically intense. "You're right when you remember that da always used to tell us not to trust anyone but family. 'Blood is thicker than water' must 'ave come out of his mouth at least once a day as we were growin' up. But you can't always rely on yourself or your family. Every fighter pilot knows that; ah just think it never really registered with us because we always flew together. Our mistrust of people has done us many a disservice, and ah doubt it's ever really helped us either. This past month or so, working an' living with these men has shaken mah belief in Colonel Kincaid's 'infallible' saying. Blood is NOT always thicker than water. Just look at the camaraderie these men have with one another. They are a family, not by blood, but by necessity and circumstance. Colonel Hogan has earned the respect and trust of every man in this camp by his actions, not his rank. His life, and the lives of every man in this camp, are in constant danger as a result of the responsibility he's taken on, and yet they trust him implicitly every day to keep them safe. And he will, even at the risk of his own safety. You certainly can't count on me ta do that, nor our father, for that matter."

"What do you mean by that, Kier? Of course I trust you. I'd trust you with my life any day of the week!"

"But you shouldn't. If the Gestapo caught any of Hogan's men, he wouldn't go into hiding and do nothing until they were released or killed. He would go in there and break them out. He has, on several occasions, which is more than you can ever say for me." His voice was full of despair.

"But Kier, ye know as well as ah do that there was nothin' ye could have done! You're just one man, after all."

"Exactly mah point. An' so are you. An' when we're together, we might as well be just one man for all that we're alike. An' ah'm beginnin' ta think that that's as much a liability as a blessing in our line of work. But it's a liability we can get rid of if we stay 'ere! We'll still have our job, an' our talents, an' each other, but we'll also have a great team to work with who'll watch our backs, and, most importantly, we'll have a great commanding officer. I, for one, would welcome the chance to take orders again, especially from a man like Colonel Hogan. So whaddya say?"

_Darkness has come  
Believe and you will find your way_

Liam lay back and gazed up at the sky, processing everything his twin had just told him. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about staying, or if he could survive being a prisoner of the Germans again, and until the end of the war, at that. He had been looking forward to so many things when he got home; could he give up the chance to see his family and his fiancée until it was over?

He turned away from his brother, lost in thought. Then, he caught a slight glimpse of some of the other buildings out of the corner of his eye in the glow from the searchlights. There had to be over a thousand prisoners in this camp, and every single one of them had pledged himself to Colonel Hogan and his cause. They gave up their chance to go home as well, all of them, when they could be flying again, or at home with family and friends. That was a hell of a price to pay for one man and one mission when it would be so easy for them all to escape. He supposed that had to say quite a bit about the importance of their operation here. 

Liam thought back to what Kier had stated so vehemently just a few moments ago, the antithesis of their father's life mantra. "Blood is NOT thicker than water," Kier had said, and Liam knew that he was right. He'd never really understood that saying anyway; the way he saw it, blood and water were two entirely different things. The men here in this camp weren't bound by 'blood,' not by family or duty or orders. They were bound by what he supposed could be considered 'water;' a common goal, a purity of purpose, friendship, honor, and loyalty to the cause. And that bond was as strong as any bond of blood, possibly even stronger because it was voluntary and created out of mutual camaraderie and necessity . Were he and Kieran to stay here, their loyalty to the cause would have to be bound with ties of both 'blood' and 'water.' They'd have to be in it 100%. And a cause that genuine had to be worth something.

_Darkness has fallen  
A promise lies within you now_

He glanced to the sky again, letting the infinite darkness with its tiny pinpricks of light fill his entire field of vision. He knew then that the best, the most honorable, possibly even the only course of action was to stay. He turned his head to look at his twin, who was also staring off into the infinite sky. "Let's do it, Kier. Ah'm ready for a change of pace. Let's stay here."

A small smile turned the corner of Kier's mouth, but he said nothing right away. Then, he slowly asked, "Do you see what I see, _leth-aon_?"

Liam looked back up at the sky. "What is it we are seeing, Kier?"

"The future, I believe. That even in this darkness of war, ever blow we strike against Germany is another star we place in the sky, lighting the way until the sun rises and the war ends." Then, he turned to his twin and shrugged, breaking the mood completely with a matter-of-fact "At least, that's what a poet would say, which I surely am not." 

Liam laughed at that, then sat up and headed back towards the window. "Come on! Let's go tell Colonel Hogan the good news!"

_A promise lies within you now…_

* * * * *

Colonel Hogan looked up in surprise as two curly-haired, rosy-cheeked boys tumbled in through his open window, their emerald-green eyes sparkling with laughter and the cold. "Aren't you a little far south, leprechauns?" he asked with a smile, a teasing reference to the Irish folktale. 

"Oh, not a'tall, Colonel," they said in unison, in the thickest Irish brogues they could muster. 

"We 'eard ye could use a bit 'o the luck 'o the Irish 'round 'ere," Liam added. 

"Aye, so we thought we'd pay ya a visit and stick around for a while," Kier finished. Then the two of them stood there, hands behind their backs and smiles on their faces as they waited for his answer.

It took a moment for Hogan to realize what they had just said, but his eyes finally widened as he caught on. "And just how long would you be staying?" he asked.

"Well, we sorta figured until Allied tanks come through those gates out there," Kier said with a mischievous grin.

"We both talked it over an' decided that it would be a great honor to be part of Papa Bear's operation," Liam continued. "That is, if you'll have us, sir."

Hogan stared at the Kincaids, surprised at this turn of events. "You want to stay? But what about the Secret Service, and your other missions?"

"Well, that's just it, sir," Kier explained. "MI-6 doesn't have a mission for us right off, so we'd just be sittin' on our thumbs once we got 'ome. We both discussed it an' came ta the conclusion that we'd be doing the exact same job 'ere as we would anywhere else, only here we wouldn't be fightin' the Germans alone. So, to confirm what my brother just said… it would be and honor to serve under your command, Colonel, if you are willing to have us."

"Well, of course I'm willing to have you! And glad of it, too." Hogan smiled broadly, extremely pleased at this unexpected turn of events. "I assume this means you're planning on getting captured, Kieran?"

"Yessir. I figured ah could go out the emergency tunnel, muss mahself up a bit, an' surrender at the gate as a pilot who's been shot down. An' you can make sure that Klink keeps me, right?"

"Oh, most certainly. And you'll contact London about your 'new assignment?'"

"Yes sir!" They both snapped to attention and saluted their new commanding officer. "Pleasure to be on board, Colonel."

"And it's a pleasure to have you both," Hogan returned their salutes. "Just try not to do anything unexpected for a while, OK? I don't think I can handle any more surprises." He almost laughed as he saw them both trying to keep straight faces. "At ease, gentlemen. I'm sure there are some men out there who would love to hear the good news as well. Or bad, if you're still planning on playing cards with them every night, Liam." At that, they all laughed. "Also, I think Kinch is down in the radio room, if you want to contact your headquarters in London, Kieran."

"Thank you sir, ah'll do that right away. And thank you very much for havin' us, Colonel, unexpected surprises an' all."

"Not a problem, Lieutenant, as long as you don't make a habit of them. We'll discuss plans for your capture later. Dismissed, gentlemen!" he said with a grin.

The twins saluted once again and were headed for the door when Hogan suddenly called out, "Wait, just a minute!" They turned, surprised. "Could you do that again," he asked, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do what, sir?" they asked, confused.

"Salute."

"Sir, yes sir!" They came to attention and saluted once again.

"Do you always do it that way?"

"What way, sir?"

"One of you salutes left and the other salutes right."

The twins turned to each other and grinned. "Ah think he discovered our little secret, Liam," Kier said conspiratorially. Then, he turned back to Hogan and explained. "You're absolutely right, sir. Liam is left-handed and I am right-handed, and we make it obvious in certain ways so that people who know us, especially commanding officers, can tell us apart. I told you you'd catch on eventually," he said with a wink.

"There's one other question I've been meaning to ask you two as well. When we were first sent our orders to look for Liam, they told us you could both be identified by tattoos on your right arms; a falcon with it's wings spread in a 'V.' But Dr. Freiling never found the tattoo. Where is it, if I may be so bold?"

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. "They got it wrong again? You'd think the General would remember; after all, he's the one who insisted… Colonel, the tattoos work the same as every other way ye can tell us apart. Kieran's is on his right arm, an' mine," he rolled up his sleeve and pulled a piece of skin-colored plaster off his upper arm, midway between his elbow and his shoulder, revealing the promised tattoo, "is on mah left. The doctor dinna see it because ah had it covered while posing as a German an' forgot ta take the plaster off."

"I gotta hand it to you guys," Hogan said with genuine admiration, "your really think of everything. Now, I suggest you get down to the tunnel and call London, Kier. Barracks inspection is in fifteen minutes."

"Will do, Colonel." The brothers saluted and left. Hogan considered as the door closed behind them that this was an interesting turn of events. Now, he'd just have to convince Klink to let the twins both stay at Stalag 13. If everything went well, who knew what Papa Bear's operation could accomplish with the assistance of two trained spies. The Germans didn't stand a chance now.

* * * * *

Three days later, the men had just scattered after morning roll call when there was a commotion at the main gate. Sergeant Schultz headed over there as fast as he could manage to find a bedraggled man in an RAF uniform trying to surrender to the guards. However, as Schultz looked closer at the man, he noticed something remarkably familiar about him.

"I will escort this prisoner to the Kommandant's office," he informed the other guards. "You may return to your posts." Then, he grabbed the soldier by one arm and hustled him into camp and across the compound to Klink's office, muttering all the way. "What were you thinking, Lieutenant, trying to escape? And how did you get out of camp? You were here at roll call not ten minutes ago! Is this some kind of monkey business?… Wait! Don't tell me. I do NOT want to know."

The young man turned and stared at him. "Wot are ye talkin' about, Fritz? Ah wasn't escaping, ah was bein' captured. This war startin' ta get to ye a wee bit?"

"My name is Schultz, not Fritz! And are you trying to tell me that you are not…" He glanced across the compound towards Barracks 2 just in time to see LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk, and Kincaid exit on cleaning detail. He glanced back and forth between the prisoner at his side and the one on the other side of the camp. Unable to explain it, he just stated, "I see nothing!" and hustled the new prisoner into Klink's office.

He left the man under guard in the outer office as he made his report to Klink. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that I captured an escaping… no, a new… but he was…"

"Schultz, you dumkopf! I don't have all day! What is it you are trying to say?"

"I don't know, Herr Kommandant! There is a prisoner, but he may or may not have escaped, and I captured him…"

"Never mind! Just bring him in here!"

The new prisoner was shoved unceremoniously into the office, where he saluted both Germans and stated firmly, "First Lieutenant Kieran Sean Kincaid, Royal Air Force, serial number 1474729." Then, relaxing somewhat, he looked Klink straight in the eye. "And judging by the reactions of your guards, Kommandant, I have just one question to ask: Where is my twin brother?"

**THE END**

*****************************************************************************************************


End file.
